


Fine Print

by szarvasoks



Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: 1950s, Blood Drinking, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mostly Canon Compliant, Vampires, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25779454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/szarvasoks/pseuds/szarvasoks
Summary: "Did you think deification comes without small print?"An unassuming, yet talented, duty solicitor in Liverpool is chosen by a vicious vampire to be his progeny and protege. It starts with a by a chance encounter that devolves into stalking, then the kill and rebirth.  However, nothing is as it seems. History to be made. - Takes place during Hal and Nick's five years together and the aftermath of him leaving and the neurosis it sends Nick into
Relationships: Nick Cutler/Hal Yorke, Nick Cutler/Rachel Cutler
Comments: 10
Kudos: 7





	1. Maw

**Author's Note:**

> It's 2020 and I'm writing this fic for a fandom that doesn't exist much anymore and for a character who I loved 8 years ago. I do just love writing vampires as well. 
> 
> This first chapter is everything before the events of season 4, episode 7, "Making History." I do take some creative liberties, so most of this is headcanon, but I'd love feedback from the 10 people who might read this. This is a little shippy but there's mild smut (not rlly). I am not from the UK, so bear with me lol. I used a deleted scene to weave pre-Hal life into Hal life. if that makes sense.

July 1, 1950

Hal had been sitting in the piss-scented holding cell for far too long. Soon the guards would come and force him into a filthy jumpsuit after dowsing him with a dreadful hose. It happened once and Hal vowed never again. It wasn’t his fault that the maid screamed loud enough for another maid to hear. 

Now here he was in grimy Liverpool in a jail station adjacent to the large courthouse and city house of commons. He could see the pea-soup sky through his barred window. Hal focused on the ticking clock above the orangish door affixed to putrid green walls. 

One hour and forty minutes. It was almost 5 pm. 

“Bugger.” Hal hissed under his breath. Soon after the door creaked open with a guard and his haggard lawyer standing behind it. 

“It’s about time.” Hal snapped. The guard left them alone as the lawyer handed over Hal’s hat and briefcase. 

“Dreadfully sorry, Hal. The manager at the hotel was unreasonable at best, but your charges were dropped for now, although who knows if the poor girl will stay quiet too. Also, you’re no longer welcome at the Adelphi.” The lawyer sighed. 

“Bloody hell, I’ve always stayed at the Adelphi when I’m in this disgusting city.” Hal brushed past the man into the narrow corridor of the jail. He pushed jailers to the side. The lawyer followed and apologized as he went. 

“Mercer, my patience with you has begun to wear thin,” Hal said as they stepped into the street. The air was hot and heavy, but the lawyer was already sweating the second he saw Hal. 

“As I said, the manager was a vulgar and unreasonable man and I missed my train.”  
“You never said anything about a train, Mercer.” 

Hal pulled him close, taking a deep whiff from Robert Mercer.  
“You’ve been drinking again, haven’t you. And you’ve tried to hide it with those disgusting cinnamon lozenges that only make you smell like cheap, spiced rum.” Hal’s words cut deep. He felt the booze burning in his stomach. 

“I’m beginning to think you’re not a good fit for us anymore,” Hal spoke.  
“Hal please, this is the last time, I swear.” Robert pled. His mind fell on his large retainer from Hal's estate.  
Hal ignored his pleas. 

“Please Hal, I've been with you all since 25 and I’ve always been able to make things go away and have kept all your affairs together.” He squeezed Hal’s arm. “Please, you’ve met my children, you’ve watched them grow. I was going to invite you to my son’s university graduation. We’re practically family.”

“Robert this isn’t becoming of you, and you haven’t ‘kept things together.’” Hal scoffed. “We lost two real estate properties because you failed to submit the contracts. We lost our contact with the commons, now we are vulnerable.” Hal pushed Robert off. 

The doors of the courthouse burst open as a haggard man took a deep breath of sooty air and went to light a cigarette. 

“You’re a pure genius, laddy.” The man grunted at the lawyer who followed him onto the steps. Hal’s attention turned to the much younger man, though his eyes were weary and bloodshot. Robert and turned away to light a cigarette as well. 

Hal watched the boy trying to shuffle his papers into an almost bursting accordion case. The client smacked his back. “Listen, my friend, you got a misdemeanor down to a public disturbance. Now all I have to do is give the judge twenty quid! I’m going to call for you every time I end up here.” The man puffed on his cigarette. “Let me buy you a drink!” 

“That’s okay, Roger. Just save your money and pay your rent, then maybe you won’t have to piss on your landlord.” The lawyer sighed and he clipped his bulging folder shut. “Now I have to catch my train. Take care, Roger.” 

“Suit yourself, my friend! I’ll drink for the both of us!” The man shouted. The lawyer sighed heavily as he pressed down the stone steps while he slicked his hair back with his hand and wove through the crowd to the train station. He was a softly handsome young man with murky blue eyes, but that face wouldn't last long in this world, that hefty stack of cases would do that, just as it'd done to Robert in the last decade. Humans are fragile and unreliable, but Robert was too old and sickly to command a room anymore and a transformation wouldn't do anything to help that. 

“Who is that man?” Hal nudged Robert, who took a long puff from his cigarette. He hadn’t flicked off the ash so a long column of it hung in his lips.  
“I don’t know, he’s new… wait, Hal no, you’re better than a simple duty solicitor!” Robert’s cigarette fell to the ground. 

“Well, it was a duty solicitor who took care of Deniss’s petty theft, so where were you?” Hal started.  
“I’m for bigger things Hal, like keeping you away from prison or a camera!” 

“Keep it down, Mercer! If you want to continue to do bigger things,’ I suggest you get your act together.” Hal pulled a cigarette from his gold cigarette case and stuck it in Robert’s mouth. Robert lit it like clockwork. 

“Go pay off the maid with the lowest amount, if she refuses, Call Fergus or Deniss.” Hal stared at the train station. Robert shuddered as he walked away. 

-

Once Robert left, Hal went to the nearest phone box. The phone clicked and rang. 

“Yeah.” A voice croaked.  
“Fergus, I need you down at my office as soon as possible.”  
The voice sighed heavily and hung up. As he turned to go he saw the haggard man, Roger.

“Sir, beg your pardon, but could you please tell me your solicitor’s name, I’m in a bit of a jam myself,” Hal asked, putting on his softer human face. 

The man outstretched a cigarette for Hal to light. Hal shuffled for his lighter and lit the thing.  
The man raised it to his lips and took a drag before speaking. 

“I don’t know his first name, but his last name is Cutler. He’s sharp as a tack I’ll tell you that. Got me right off from some bullocks charges.”  
“I see, thank you very much, sir.” Hal smiled and held the name in his mind as he milled through the rush-hour crowd.

-

“Why on earth do you want me to surveil a bloody duty solicitor?” Fergus wanted to laugh, but didn’t out of respect.  
“We already have Robert, why do we need some bottom of the barrel duty solicitor?”

“Robert is starting to get tired. He’s nearing 60.”  
“C’mon Hal, you’re all about loyalty.”  
“To our kind, but Robert is not our kind.”  
“Oh, you want to recruit, I thought you’d given up on that about 100 years ago.” Fergus gave him the side-eye. Fergus was one of Hal’s oldest lackeys and the smartest. “And you want your handpicked progeny to be a duty solicitor from Liverpool, the armpit of England.”  
“Bullocks, that’s Birmingham.” Hal smarted back at him. 

“I had a vision as soon as I saw him, Fergus.” Hal said. “I see a potential for grandeur.” 

“In a low rate solicitor.” Fergus scoffed.  
“Just watch him and report back to me.” 

-  
July 3, 1950

It was pouring rain as Nick rode the train into the city. This caused the train to be slower and late. He would only have 5 minutes to meet with his client instead of 15 now. He sighed deeply and covered his watch. He’d forgotten his coffee thermos on the kitchen table he realized as he went to grab for the thermos that wasn’t there.  
No, bother he thought, there’s a coffee cart in the courthouse. As his thoughts swirled he was oblivious to the man across from him seemingly reading a paper but was in fact watching Nick. 

The man tailed him to the courthouse and slipped into the audience box and waited.

-

“I’m sorry for the tardiness, uh, Mr. Wells.” Mocked thumbed through his papers.  
“Mickey is fine.”  
“Alright, Mickey, looks like you had one too and you struck a policeman, correct?”

Mickey looked drowsy and disheveled, probably hungover still. 

“Aye, Mickey, stay with me eh?” Nick snapped his fingers as he slapped down his files on the table between them. He looked pitiful.

Nick curled up the man’s collar and started to take his own tie off.  
“What are you doing?” Mickey mumbled.  
“Trying to make you presentable. I’m not the one on trial, you are, doesn’t matter what I look like.” Nick started to tie the tie onto Mickey.  
“Just follow my lead then, yeah?”  
“Yeah.” Mickey sighed.  
“Time to go.” A jailer came and interrupted them. 

-

“Ello Winston,” Nick marched in behind Mickey. The pudgy judge with a largely matted judge's wig, glared at Nick and he set up at the attorney’s bench. “How’s Bernice?” 

“You were almost late, Cutler.” Winston simmered. The man in the audience shifted in his seat. He had the right room after all. 

“Dreadfully sorry, but you’ve seen the weather.”  
The judge huffed as he turned to the window and then back to Nick. “Bernice is fine.” 

“Perfect, shall we begin?” 

-

“Your honor, the policeman was wearing a helmet, and only sustained a small bruise, I hardly think this is grounds for anything more than a misdemeanor at worst.” Nick presented the judge with a grainy photo of the officer in question. The judge raised on scraggly eyebrow.

“Look it was a rough night for Mr. Wells, just lost control after a hard day at the docks, a nagging wife, and rent that’s too high. However, this is his rock bottom. He’s assured me that he will be attending weekly sobriety meetings at his local church. Right, Mr. Wells?”

“Huh, yes, this has been a wake-up call, your honor.” Mickey stood up.  
“Hmph.” The judge furrowed his brow and stroked his chin.  
“Misdemeanor with one week of community service. Judgment is served.” Winston hit his gavel. 

“Thank you, Winston, give my regards to Bernice.” Nick shouted, but Winston shooed them off. 

The man in the audience ducked out before Nick saw him. 

-

The coffee cart wasn’t running that day. 

“Bugger.” Nick could feel a caffeine headache bubbling behind his eyes.

Nick slumped onto a nearby bench and closed his eyes before pouring through his next client’s paperwork, soon fixating on the many spelling and grammar errors on the police report. He clicked his tongue and laid back against the brick wall. 

Down at the end of the hall, Fergus stared at this oh-so-special duty solicitor. It was impressive that he finished the last hearing in less than 20 minutes, but so far Fergus was bored. He looked at the grand clock above the entry doors, then turned to find the little git was gone. 

-

Nick sat in the teal interview room waiting for his client. A drop of water hit the desk in front of him, just missing the error-riddled police report. He looked up to see the ceiling was leaking, the crack was brown and dripping. There wasn’t a roof above that ceiling. It was a bathroom. Terrific, he thought. 

Soon a shackled man stepped into the room. He looked less than pleased to see his lawyer. 

“Really, this lad is probably younger than my boy!” The man shouted at the guard.  
“Please sit, Mr. Graham.” Nick stood up, but the prisoner rolled his eyes before sitting. 

“How old are ya then?” He asked.  
“25, but that doesn’t matter-“ “25! My son is 30! I could be your father! How am I supposed to trust a child to get me out of this?”  
“Mr. Graham, please listen. This is just a charges hearing, they want you to either accept the charges and plead guilty and move on to sentencing, or plead innocent and go to trial.” Nick straightened his papers and flipped them over for Graham to see. 

“But see, this is your police report, I read over it a few times to make sure I wasn’t seeing things, but look at this, they misspelled your name, twice. They also typed your alleged crime twice in one space. Now, this is just small details, but I think I can get the whole thing dropped.”

Graham flipped through the document and looked for errors.  
“Like a mistrial?”  
“Better than that,” Nick smirked, the man didn’t share in this.  
“If it doesn’t work, I want a new solicitor.”  
“It will work:” 

-

The judge was much younger than Winston, he had a much larger pile of cases littering his desk. 

“P. Graham, case number 11 dash A18.” They barely looked up.  
“Correct, your honor.” 

“You’re accused of robbery with a class c weapon. How do you plead?”  
Graham went to plead not guilty, but Nick stepped in front of him.  
“My client pleads neither, your honor!”  
The judge finally looked up. 

“How do you mean?” The judge had an Essex accent.  
“What I mean is, look at this sham of a police report. Look, on the very first line, the policeman spelled my client’s name wrong.” 

The judge studied the report.  
“And if you look at paragraph 3, he does it again. And he also repeats many words.” Nick held Graham back. 

Fergus was now intrigued and sat forward.  
“What are you getting at?”  
“What I think is that this officer was not in the right state of mind or health, for that matter, so I don’t see this report as valid. I mean how do we know if this is the right accused?” Nick pointed to Graham. 

“I know time is very important to you, so I know you shouldn’t waste your time on faulty reports just to prolong this man’s imprisonment and trials.” Nick’s heart raced, this will work, he told himself. "Also anything is called 'class c weapons,' he could've been brandishing a packet of biscuits."

“The charges are dropped, there is no case here, it would just lead to a lengthy mistrial.” The judge clapped his gavel. A large smile spread across Graham’s and Fergus’s faces. 

-

July 19, 1950

“So, how is he?” Hal leaned back in his chair.  
“He is good.”  
“Do you think he’d make a good fit?”  
“I don’t know, Hal.” Fergus sighed.  
“Give him a test, become his client.”  
“Yeah, how am I supposed to do that?”  
“Something in front of a camera.” 

-  
The only place that used photos for security was the largest police station in the city centre. 

Fergus carried a small canister of lead paint and a thick brush. He sighed as he began to sloppily write pigs on the outer wall of the station, he could hear the shutter of the camera. 

When the camera first came into fashion over 100 years ago, it was quite a thrill and a shock that vampires could not be seen in photos. So the paint Fergus splashed on the wall would look as though it appeared on its own. 

“Hey! What are you doing there?!” A portly policeman came huffing around the corner. Fergus could smell his overly salty blood. He felt his faint inklings of hunger disappear. He put his hands up and dropped the paint. 

-

Nick didn’t forget his coffee this time. His wife, Rachel, put it in his hand before sending him off with a kiss. "I'd be lost without you," He said going down the garden path to the street. She rolled her eyes and waved goodbye. 

She’d been a nurse during the war, that’s how he met her. He’d been too young to be drafted when the war began but he did clerical work for the base, the university had been closed during the bombings. He’d work all day and studied at night by a single lamp in the administration building. 

One night a blast rattled the building so much that a great deal of dust and drywall fell onto him. He held his books to his chest and sprinted to the bomb shelter and dust fell around him. He pounded on the metal door and an angry man finally let him in. 

“What a fool you are, sitting in the admin building, didn’t you hear the intelligence report? They were planning to bomb this area.” 

Nick remained silent but noticed a drop of blood hit his law book. 

“Oh, yes, I think I did read that.”  
“Can someone come here, I think he has a concussion.”

A soft young woman in a dirty white nurse’s uniform approached. She clicked her tongue as Nick mustered a smile. 

They married a year after the war, just as he graduated. 

They never talked seriously about children, it was always, “we’ll get around to it eventually.” But until their income was steady it was something that hadn’t been brought up in years. Besides Rachel worked as a hospital administrator, so neither of them had time for a baby. 

Nick didn’t want the stress of it all to drive him to the bottle like his father. It was better this way. 

-

“Do you have anything other than drunks today?” Nick asked the administrator.  
“No, you’re still being put through the wringer, my friend.” She laughed.  
“We did have someone ask for you.”  
“Let me guess, his name is Roger Curtis, eh?”  
“No, said his name was Samuel Schmidt.”  
“A drunk I’ve never met asked for me?”  
“Never said he was a drunk, love.” She smirked. “Here’s the police report, it was from very early this morning.” She slid the file under the glass of her divider.

“Huh, this might just be the start of something, maybe my own-“ “Don’t get cocky Cutler.” She slapped ten more files on top. His stomach sank. No lunch, he’d have to prep the whole day and probably tonight as well.  
“Such is life.” 

-

As he approached the holding pens he flipped through the thin police report. There were several blurry photos of graffiti appearing on the stone wall, but no suspect. 

“How curious.” 

“Uh, I need to see a supervisor,” Nick asked the portly officer behind the desk.  
“‘Tis I, what do you want?"  
"I need to see S. Schmidt-“ he stopped. The officer’s nameplate matched the name on the report. 

“Ah, so you’re the arresting officer?”  
“I am, what’s it to you? Are going to leave with him now or what?” The officer pointed at the cell behind Nick. 

He stared at the detainee, he’d seen him before, but he couldn’t figure out where. He shook it off and returned to the officer.  
“We have a problem, my friend.” Nick slapped open the police report. 

He showed the officer the still images from the morning.  
“See my client anywhere?”  
The officer’s eyes widened.  
“Been getting enough sleep?” Nick mocked, his own eyes burned with exhaustion.  
“But, I-“ the officer sighed. He pulled the lever to open the cell.  
“Get him out of here.”  
“You’ve been a Saint, take care of yourself.” Nick gave a small salute. 

Fergus stood and smiled at the shorter solicitor.  
“Get me out.”  
Nick nodded and led him to the main courthouse. On the rickety elevator, Fergus chuckled and showed Nick the red pain on his sleeve. Nick couldn’t help but smile.

“Circumstantial evidence, won’t hold up well.” He said softly. 

“Good man.” Fergus laughed and landed a cold hand on Nick’s neck.  
“Have I met you before?” Nick worked up the courage to ask.  
“No,” He said bluntly. Fergus stepped out of the elevator first and disappeared into the morning crowd. Nick felt the coldness on his neck radiate down his spine. 

-

“Well he behaved just like you said, he didn’t suspect a thing but he saw the flaw in the report.” Fergus came to a dirty alleyway where Hal waited.  
“Perfect.” Hal smiled.  
“He had a right big stack of files, so you might be here for a while.”  
“Thank you Fergus, but I have all the time in the world, but he does not. I’m nearly ready to make a choice.” Hal patted Fergus’s shoulder.  
"Who's gonna break the news to Robert?"  
"In due time, my friend."

-

The sun had just dipped below the buildings when Nick finally emerged from the courthouse. Hal watched him wave to the leaving tea and coffee woman then he opened his suit jacket to adjust to the muggy evening.  
A small breeze created by a passing bus wafted the scent of his blood to Hal. It reminded him of the heavy smell of wisteria and orange blossoms blooming on a summer night. Intoxicating.

He followed Nick to the train and sat on the far end of the cart. He could still pick out his scent among the crowded cart. 

Having been exhausted Nick was less observant of his surroundings. He scribbled away on his legal pad but only stopping when his pencil was too dull to work. Hal watched him sigh as he stared out into the evening, staring at the passing world. He was made for more, Hal thought. 

He drifted into the crowd to watch Nick get off. He kept about 20 paces of the distance between them. The street lamps began to flicker on as he followed Nick. They created little pools of light on the darkness of the street and stony, uneven pavement. 

The sweat on Nick’s neck made his scent carry farther to Hal as he pulled off his tie and slung his jacket over one shoulder. The rush of sweetness was almost too much for Hal. 

He could just take him now, he thought. He’s tired so there won’t be a fight. But Nick turned onto a small garden walkway to the smallest house in the dingy neighborhood. It had a car park but no car, hence the train taking. 

Nick stopped at the letterbox, his skin prickled with the breeze. He surveyed the silent neighborhood squinting in the darkness. Hal felt him stare right through him, but he remained still as a rock. 

Nick had felt an odd presence since the train but he shook it off as nerves. He headed inside, immediately greeted by Rachel. She scolded him for being late, but she laughed it off and kissed his cheek. 

Hal stood at the base of their tiny garden as the front door closed. This was a complication. It didn't matter though, Nick Cutler’s fate was sealed. Hal was to be his judge, jury, and in some sense, his executioner. 

He found a phone box at the train station and called the police administrator line. 

“Get me Roy Mallory.” 

-

July 21, 1950

The shrill ring of the alarm stirred Nick awake. He sat straight up, Rachel only sighed and adjusted her pillow. Nick carefully crept out of the bed. He needed to still prep for morning court, then it was endless hearings till 7 pm. 

-

He haphazardly got dressed in a daze of sleepiness and mental strain and headed for the train station. He wanted to say goodbye to Rachel, but she was still fast asleep. No matter, he'd see her tonight. It was a Friday so he didn't have court tomorrow. Punch in, punch out, just like dad. 

-  
His first couple hearings and sentencing were uneventful and predictable, however, he lost the biggest case that day to a hung jury. He felt off for the rest of the day. As night fell he found himself in the holding pens chatting with a supervisor as he waited for even more paperwork. 

"Someone likes you." The supervisor chirped.  
"What? Who?" Nick scoffed, this day would be remiss if it didn't land on a cruel joke.  
"Cell 2, asked for you specifical."  
"Well I've got all this, give him to Jonathan." Nick squeezed his files.  
"The word is; drop all that."  
"Word from who?" Nick was tired of the game. "He's not another bloody Mason is he?" Nick heard stories of the oh-so-secret masons and all their ceremonies and traditions.  
"No, but we've had dealing with em before."  
"So does he usually use?" Nick sighed.  
"Doesn't matter, he's been looking for someone, you've been noticed." His words clung in the air. "I'm just passing on the message."

"What's he done?" Nick had a faint curiosity. He thumbed through the file. "Illegal gambling?"  
"Two bobbies got caught up with him before they made the arrest. Normally we tidy this all ourselves all quiet like, but one of the bobbies is the son of a superintendent so its too messy." The supervisor confessed.  
"What do you mean, 'tidying away?'" Nick stammered.  
"It's complicated," The supervisor sighed. "Roy, take Mr. Cutler to cell two." Another man approached and nodded,

The bars lead to a long corridor of white and red brick. These were the solitary cells. Normally there'd be moaning and slurs being tossed around, but instead, it was as quiet as a grave.

The man inside the cell didn't look like some hardened criminal, he was a sharply dressed and unnaturally handsome man. He looked out of place in the fetidness of the jailhouse. Nick hoped his shock and awe didn't show on his face. 

“Mister Yorke, my name's Nick Cutler and I believe you asked for me."  
"Mister Culter, I've heard so much about you." Hal smiled. He liked seeing Nick up close. 

“Uh-yeah okay,” Nick opened up the file. Usually, there’d be a desk to meet over but this cell was barebones. Nick caught eye contact with Hal, his felt entranced for a split second by his hazel eyes as if he’d never seen hazel eyes before. 

Nick studied his much more expensive suit. This had to have been a dream. Hal could sense his trepidation. Nick took a deep breath and scoured over the police report. 

“Just tell me everything I need to know and it’ll be sorted.”  
“No doubt, Mr. Cutler.” Hal smirked.  
Nick’s eyes drew up to Hal’s but he quickly averted them. He felt unworthy to hold eye contact.

“It's not dissatisfaction. It's a feeling more akin to  
having been born in captivity. A seeping realization that your dreams and ambitions are just too big, too rich for this domestic world.” Hal went into his well-prepared speech. It was a variation of one he’d used long ago. But this wasn’t going to be some lackey. 

“Okay, are you planning to say anything I can use as your defense?” Nick was caught off guard. He was too tired for nonsense. 

“A defense for what?” Hal almost forgot his trumped-up charges. 

“What you were arrested for! Illegal gambling.” Nick was getting irritated as he fussed over the documents.  
“Specifically, according to the reams of documents and papers, they found, ‘dog fights.’” Nick reread the dog part again. They still did those? He thought. 

“Don't worry about that. Until recently, any dealings with the police were handled by our family solicitor, Robert Mercer. But he passed away… unexpectedly on  
the 24th of this month, so…” Hal's speech drifted off. 

“It’s the 20th.” Nick double-checked the police report to make sure he wasn’t losing his mind. 

“Is it?” Hal felt a twinge of embarrassment but he let it go just as quickly as it came. 

“Hmm. Anyway, therefore we need a new legal representative. And destiny has decided... it's you.” 

“Well, I don't think you're really in the position.” Nick almost scoffed. “I already have a job.” 

“But you're bored, Mr. Cutler. In your lifetime, how many people have told you, you're going to achieve great things? That you're destined to become a history maker?” Hal continued his amended speech. 

“This is hardly,” Nick sighed. He felt cornered. 

“I don’t know, a few.” Nick’s mind flashed to his father at his law school graduation. Joseph Cutler never smiled or parted good words with anyone but he told Nick he was going to go places, but to not screw it up. Nick came back to reality.  
“Now can we just…?” Nick motioned to his papers. 

“The thing is, you agree. Roy?” Hal’s voice was as smooth as water but his intonation made Nick afraid. He heard the cell door creak he turned to watch an emotionless Mallory lock him in. 

When he turned back around Hal was standing, though they were roughly the same height, Nick felt like he was being towered over. 

The horrors of war couldn’t prepare him for what he saw next. His client's eyes grew black and his mouth gaped open with sharp teeth like a beastly maw. He froze but proceeded to scream and drop his papers across the concrete floor. They fluttered around like a pile of white feathers being pulled from a butchered chicken.

The monster bore down on him and ripped his collar down to then sink his teeth into Nick’s exposed neck. He screamed until his lungs burned and his mouth tasted like iron.

The whole time he tried desperately to push off his attacker, but it was a losing fight. Hal squeezed his one arm against his body as he devoured. He used is free arm to hold down Nick's wrist to keep him from clawing at Hal's face. Nick could feel himself weakening. He heard his own heartbeat begin to slow and sputter. 

His breaths were shallow and labored. Was this all his life would amount to? Just to die on a dirty floor surrounded by blood-soaked papers. 

Hal finally released his mouth’s grip on Nick’s neck. He carefully laid the nearly deceased man on the floor, careful not to hit his head. Nick couldn't understand the kindness, everything was getting blurry. Hal knelt over him and studied his eyes, the flame was about to go out. 

“Please,” Nick said, but it only came out as a sputtering cough that decorated his paling lips with blood. 

“It’s going to be alright.” Hal bit into his own wrist and pressed the wound into the dying man’s mouth. Hal panicked when the boy didn’t latch. Had he already died? What a waste that would be, but he felt weakened teeth clamp onto him. 

“Good.” Hal savored the blood still in his mouth. He felt Nick’s heartbeat strengthen and become one with his own slow beat. 

Nick gripped Hal’s arm and kept up his feverish feeding. He’d never tasted blood like this, but his mind filtered out every other thought except hunger. 

“Enough!” Hal pulled back and Nick felt his heart stop immediately. He couldn’t scream or speak, everything became black as the room melted from him.


	2. Worse Than Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Nick finally awakes, he finds himself in a terrifying new world with a ravenous hunger for something so sacred and untouchable. He slowly comes to grips with his new reality. Hal gives him a test of strength that has scarcely begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder how many times I can write blood in one chapter. woof. 
> 
> I love how the being human fandom have decided that Cutler lived/transformed in Liverpool (in fanfics) simply because Andrew Gower is from Liverpool. All of this in the face of the show taking place in Wales and the locations mentioned are always in Wales. Cutler is probably supposed to be welsh, but that accent of his says otherwise. Lmao
> 
> anyways please enjoy, and leave a comment!

Nick’s eyes fluttered open as he sucked in a deep breath, but he didn’t feel his lungs inflate. He stood in the solitary cell from before he blacked out. But instead, everything was cast in a dark blue light. He felt a sense of vertigo as he surveyed the silent room. His eyes drifted down to a corpse beneath his feet. His corpse. 

His eyes were clouded over and his neck was gashed open and blood still pouring out. He lay on a bed of blank papers. Nick wanted to scream to run out of the cell but he felt frozen. He grew the strength to try and pry the cell door open but it was glued to the wall like a false door. 

He heard something take a deep breath, the corpse maybe, and he turned to see a new door behind him. It was old and splintered, he recognized it as his childhood bedroom door. It led to somewhere safe. The door opened on its own and showed a pure white light. The light of death. Was he a ghost? He felt compelled to go through it but once again he was frozen. 

Before his eyes, a new door appeared. His father’s door, it was the same splitting wood but it had a hole punched through it. He shuddered as it opened to darkness. His bedroom door slammed shut and disappeared. 

He heard a hissing and whispering coming from the void behind the second door. He saw a ghastly hand grab the doorframe. He saw three men escape from the blackness. Their skin was gray and sloughing off their bones. Their eyelids drooped down to expose their blackened skulls. They came brandishing rope laced with shards of glass and long willow branches. They were not death, they were something far worse. 

“Please!” Nick pleaded but only a cough of blood escaped. As the men drew near, the corpse below his sucked in a gasp of air and everything went black. 

-

Roy had come back to the cell after the screaming stopped. He found quite the grizzly sight. 

Papers scattered everywhere stained with blood, arterial sprays, and heavy bleeding. Then there was the corpse. The jacket was torn away and the collar of the shirt was ripped, both were soaked in blood by the fresh tear in the corpse’s neck. Its eyes were half-open. Poor boy.

“You’re usually cleaner than this, Yorke.” Roy snapped. “Did you just kill em? He doesn’t look like one of yous.” 

“He put up quite a fight, that’s rare. Give it time, the body needs to die.” Hal said and he wiped his mouth.  
“He looks pretty dead to me.” Roy sighed. 

“I need your help to move him, my men are waiting outside the service exit.” Hal straightened his bloodied clothes then bent down to close Nick’s eyes all the way, letting his fingers trail down the boy’s face, brushing the lips. Roy had to turn away. 

Roy grumbled as he grabbed the legs and Hal grabbed under the shoulders. Roy didn’t want to stain his uniform by holding the torso. He already began to feel a pang of guilt as they stumbled down the hall. 

“So young.” He said softly. “I helped deliver him to you.”  
“He’s not dead, Mallory. Just sleeping, you’ll see.”   
“I hope you’re right. I usually turn my face from your lot but this is too much.”   
“Calm down.” Hal hissed as they made it to the door. 

-

Nick was suddenly jolted awake. When he first took a breath there was a relief, it had all been a dream, but as his eyes adjusted to the dim room around him he had no idea where he was. But he soon saw the truth, he was laying on a mortuary slab in the dark basement of some sort of funeral parlor. He felt panicked and suddenly claustrophobic. 

“Rachel?” He sat on the side of the slab. Had he been pronounced dead and prematurely brought here? His head spun as he shifted his body on the slab. 

Despite sleeping on the cold hard slab, he didn’t feel sore. Odd. Even though the room was nothing but grays and whites, he felt like he was truly seeing those colors for the first time. All of them were fuller and everything had more depth and contrast. 

“Good morning Mr. Cutler.” A cool voice spoke from a corner of the room.   
“Jesus Christ,” Nick sputtered.   
Hal leaned forward to study Nick’s expressions. 

“I think I hit my head proper good.” Nick rubbed his now throbbing temples. “Is my wife here?”   
“No, I’m afraid she isn’t, my friend.”   
“Uh, oh, do I know you?” Nick had a flash of a face in his mind.   
“Oh, you don’t remember.” Hal had a slight disappointment in his voice. “No matter, you will once you eat.”   
“I’m sorry, but what is going on?” Nick stood up but his legs felt like jello. 

“Oh, not so fast, don’t want you keeling over.” Hal came up closer to Nick. Nick could smell his cologne and soap, it was dizzying.   
“No, no, it’s fine, can you just tell me what’s going on? Why am I in a bloody mortuary?”  
“What do you last remember?” Hal liked this game. The reveal would be so delicious. 

Nick was greeted again with a flash of the man’s face. He felt a sharp pain in his neck. He went to rub the pain away. When he brought his hand back down it was covered in flaking dried blood.   
“Ghah!” Nick gasped. He felt no wound but there was a sickly copper smell enveloping him. He finally looked at his sleeves and white shirt and found them stained with blood. 

“This is some sick joke?!” Nick shouted. “You need to tell me what’s going on now!” He came back over to Hal. 

“Let’s just calm down, shall we? You’re no longer in danger.” Hal said calmly. “Fergus!” He then yelled, the sound of his voice echoing on the metal cabinets reverberated in his ears. The door immediately opened and an oddly familiar man came through with a cart. 

“Eh, I know him too, I was- I was your lawyer a bit ago. The red paint.” Nick’s hands started to shake, but he soon became fixated on the porcelain teapot on the cart. The tea or coffee inside smelled heavenly and his dry mouth immediately watered. It felt like all his nerves were standing to attention.

“Why don’t we drink and it’ll come back to you.” Hal gently lifted the pot and poured it into a decorative teacup.   
“Listen, I’m not here for some tea party am I?” He held Hal’s arm before he could hand him the cup.   
“Mr. Cutler, it’s getting colder, please drink.” Hal pressed the cup into his palms. 

The drink was a deep and rich red, Nick almost didn’t register it as blood. 

“This is sick!” His hands shook but every cell in his body was screaming for him to drink it. The pressure was too much and he had to consume it in one gulp. 

It was like nothing he’d ever tasted before. It was warm and almost creamy in a way, but it was sweet and savory at once. He didn’t realize that Hal refilled the cup as he drained it again. Nick wanted to drink it all from the teapot itself. He stopped himself from asking for more. He felt his stomach twist. 

Soon his mind flashed to the jail cell. The black eyes, the teeth, screaming, and all the blood.   
“You! You did this! You killed me!” Nick felt his organs lurch and he collapsed to the floor. “What did you do to me?” He gritted. Fergus rolled his eyes and Hal gave him a scolding look. 

“Mr. Cutler, please try to contain yourself. You’re only going to feel this way if you continue to struggle.” Hal squatted to his level. “You’re smart, and I think you know exactly what you are now, but your human mind is trying desperately to deny it.” Hal’s words were like knives. It was then that Nick noticed he wasn’t breathing, his chest ceased to rise and fall as it did before. Normally with the anxiety, he was feeling now, he’d hear his heart pounding in his ears, but it was silent. A single word sat on the precipice of his mind,

“Please… please tell me. I don’t want to say it.”   
“You’re like my comrade and I, you’re neither dead nor alive. You will never grow old, disease will never touch you, and you will live forever.” Hal spoke slowly and deliberately. “There are many words for what we are, but in your tongue we are vampires.” 

Nick felt a full-body chill that made his teeth chatter. Vampire. It was a word sitting in the dark side of his mind, but he chose to ignore it. The writing, however, was on the wall and it was written in blood. 

Hal could see a solemn shift in his eyes.   
“Right now, your organs are still shutting down and being rebuilt, but your heart was the first to go, now it maybe beats once or twice a day.” 

Nick instinctively felt his chest, but felt no familiar rhythm.  
“It can’t be so, this is just a trick.”   
“Mr. Cutler, you just drank half a kettle of blood,” Hal said. The very word, blood, set his teeth, and mind on edge. 

“If I told you there was a pool of it beneath this floor you would claw through the stone to reach it. I can see the hunger written on your face.” Hal snapped his fingers and Fergus poured another cup. Hal gingerly placed it in Nick’s trembling hands. 

Without a second thought, he devoured the liquid. He wanted more, but it was starting to cool and lose its vigor. He didn’t dare think about where it came from. 

“Why me?” He asked.  
“For one, we need a council that we can rely upon. A council that will understand our needs and our predicament, but also I see a bright and shining future for you. You and I.” He said it with such ease. Nick’s heart would’ve fluttered if it still worked.   
“Can I please go?” Nick struggled to say. Hal frowned and stood up.   
“If that’s what you wish. But you should know, your new condition is often volatile and I can’t guarantee the safety of those around you. Your wife, especially.” Hal said with strange malice. “You’ll be back, back when the hunger is too much.” Hal’s words were both a warning and an apology. 

“She’s probably worried sick.” Nick said quietly.   
“Your absence will soon be the least of her worries if you leave now.”   
“I have to.” Nick used the slab to pull himself off the floor. Hal sighed.   
“Do what you must, Cutler. But head my warning, humans have a way of dying. She’ll be under your skin and soon your hunger will outweigh your attachment.”   
“You don’t know that.”   
“Very well.” Hal straightened his unstained suit and motioned to the door. “Fergus, show our new recruit out.” 

Fergus let Nick up the stairs first, Hal grabbed his shoulder.   
“Follow him, I don’t feel like cleaning up any messes today, I still have that problem to deal with,” Hal said in a low register. Fergus nodded with a grunt. 

When Nick reached the top of the stairs he was greeted by a handful of other people, other vampires. They all gave their auspicious nods and looks to him as he walked through the dusty main level of the parlor. He felt exposed and sick, so he wrapped his arms around his stomach. 

-

He didn’t remember the sun being so bright before that day. It was an oddly sunny day as well, not a cloud in the sky. He felt like he might ignite, but his skin remained cold against the relentless sunshine. 

He had no idea exactly where he was, far from the city centre but not close to home either. He could feel passersbys stare at him as he focused on finding a train or bus station. 

Then there was the smell. No longer did he smell the musty odor of the city, nor the scents from restaurants and cafes. No, he smelled the people around him, their soaps and perfumes, and something more sinister, their blood. He’d hyper-focus on a neck or forehead or a woman’s leg and he’d see their veins quiver and move. There was a thunderstorm of heartbeats all around him. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands hard against his ears. 

“Stop!” He shouted. People passing by began to stop and murmur about the bloodied man shouting in the streets. But they would simply shake their heads and keep on going, it was Liverpool after all. Plenty of drunks to go around. 

“Stop making a scene!” Fergus came around the corner and pulled Nick by the shoulders. “C’mon now.” He pulled Nick to an alleyway where a car sat. 

-

The ride felt like an eternity and by the end, Nick realized he never gave the tough guy directions. 

“How do you know where I live? Oh- oh don’t tell me.” The realization sat like a rock in his throat.   
“Get out please.”   
“What about my wife, what if she sees.” He felt nauseous.  
“She’s not here, now get out.”   
“How do..?” “Get out.” 

Fergus pushed him out. It was midday then, the sun was still high and he felt like he could feel the earth's rotation. His feet dragged to the door. He felt around for his key but didn’t find it. 

“Great, now they know where I live and they have my key.” He realized how little it all mattered. There was thankfully a key under the rug. 

“Rachel?” He called out as he entered. “Are you home?” 

No reply. It gave him some relief. More time to come up with a story, he obviously couldn’t tell her the truth. She’d never believe him. He didn’t know if he believed it either. He was still hoping it was a nightmare he could wake up from. 

The home was silent except for the grandfather clock at the end of the hall from the entryway. It’d been a wedding gift from Rachel’s grandmother, “survived two wars!” She’d boast. The click of it was deafening. 

There was a little note on the entryway table.   
\---  
Nick,   
I hope you’re okay. I’ll be at my sister’s today for lunch but I won’t be back till around 6. We’ll have last night's supper tonight, it’s in the icebox, please heat it up.   
Please call if you’re home before me.   
I’m worried.   
-Rachel   
xo  
\---

He squeezed the light pink paper in frustration. He didn’t deserve her. He told himself that every day, but now it was completely true. 

He couldn’t see her in this state, he wondered if he should just leave and never come back. 

He peeled off his suit jacket, blood had made it stick to his exposed skin from the ripped dress shirt. He dropped it unceremoniously to the floor and grabbed the staircase rail. He needed a bath, desperately. As he climbed the stairs he’d peeled off another layer of clothing. His blood stained all the way to the undershirt and trailed down to his waistband. He wondered how a human could have so much blood to lose. It was a dangerous thought that sent him in a spiral of red thoughts. Both flashes of his own death from last night and the blood. He could almost feel it and imagine it dripping down his chin. The chime of the clock downstairs broke the trance. 

He climbed into the small shower and went away scrubbing every inch of skin. The water ran red for a few minutes, then pink, then clear. He was a little surprised that his blood seemed to have no effect on himself. He felt no starvations for it, maybe it was all just a dream. He wasn’t a vampire, he just hit his head and imagined the whole thing. Clearly the blood didn’t have an effect on him.

His shower turned the small bathroom into a steam-filled sauna of sorts. But he still felt a dreadful cold under his skin. Perhaps he had a stomach bug.

He went to rub the mirror above the sink clear but felt backward like he’d just been electrocuted. There was no reflection staring back at him. He could move the mist and water on the mirror and it’d leave a mark, but he could not be seen. He began to hyperventilate but his lungs felt like stone. Dead man’s lungs. 

“This can’t be real, this is Hollywood, it’s not real. It’s not real.” He repeated as he opened and closed his eyes. Every time he opened them, there was still no reflection. He used a towel to cover the mirror as he collected his thoughts. 

“Keep calm, carry on.” That’s what they’d say during the worst times of the war. Nick repeated that phrase as he put on new boxers and a fresh shirt. He then picked up the discarded clothes. 

There was no way he could get those stains out and he certainly didn’t want Rachel to find them in the rubbish bin. He went to the empty garage and found a metal bucket and a small bottle of kerosene and a pack of matches. He went into the back garden with the clothes and all. 

He placed the bucket on the rocky middle of the yard and placed the clothes inside before dousing them in the kerosene. He usually struggled to make the flimsy matchbooks light, but it lit up with one strike. Soon the bloody clothes were ablaze. He stood above the bucket, mesmerized by the orangey-yellow flames. He liked all the new colors he could see if he focused on them. Soon the acrid smell of burnt blood and cloth filled the air. A gruesome farewell to his human self. 

There was almost a bit of peace watching the last remnants of his human body turning to ash. 

“Aye, Nick, doing some barbecue inya?” His neighbor, Finneas was standing at the brick fence between their gardens. “Are ya gonna invite the misses and I over?” He was a plump and short man who had a habit of sticking himself into everyone’s business. 

“No, Finneas, does this look like a barbecue?” Nick snapped.   
“Aye, mate, no need to get testy with me.”   
“Just go inside, Finneas,” Nick said through his teeth.   
“Didn’t see you come home last night, eh Cutler?”   
“Finneas, I’m warning you.” He gritted.   
“But saw you coming up the walkway, looking like a mess.” Finneas had caught him. Nick finally made eye contact. The man’s forehead glistened in the sun. He saw the faint pulse of a vein beneath the skin. Nick tried to swallow the anger and urges boiling inside. 

“Everything okay mate?” Finneas looked positively pleased. Like a pig in shit. His mouthy gossip would put haughty church ladies to shame. 

“Everything is fine, go inside now.” Nick’s voice trembled.   
“Just worried is all—“ “Now!” Nick kicked over the bucket sending hot embers into the afternoon sky. When he turned to look at Finneas, the man’s face went white as a sheet. He was frozen then hightailed it inside. Nick could hear him use his sliding lock. 

Nick felt his clamped teeth. His canines were long and sharp, this revelation didn’t seem to phase him. It was the least surprising surprise all day. Thankfully he hadn’t bared them at Finneas, but he no doubt saw his blackened eyes. Eyes like Yorke. He knew that fear. 

Finneas was no doubt saying ten hail Mary’s and itching to call his priest. At this point, Nick didn’t care if he did. His gossip habit often meant no one would believe him. Surely no one would believe his story about his demonic barbecue neighbor. But now Rachel wouldn’t be able to borrow a cup of sugar from his wife Patty now. 

“Rachel.” His voice was tinged with dread.


	3. Rachel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick finally has to face Rachel fearing for her safety. She wants to take their relationship to the next logical step, but there is a complication. And Hal finally takes care of a "problem" named Robert. His attraction to Nick only grows more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does get a little saucy. Also, I love making things more tragic, you'll see. :(  
> I'm the lesbian queen of homoeroticism, so enjoy that. 
> 
> Please leave a comment or a kudos !

“I’m home! Love?” Rachel came in kicking her heels to the side. “I came home a bit early because I was still worried.” She was four hours earlier than she planned. Her sister wanted to take her dancing. Rachel hated making her upset. 

“Nick?” She sat her purse on the kitchen table. She saw the backdoor to the garden was slightly open. She saw her husband standing almost motionless on the back patio. She grew even more worried when she saw wisps of smoke in the air. 

“Nick!” She came out of the door. He reacted quickly by grabbing a watering can and pouring in all over the charred remains on his clothes. 

“What’s going on? I was worried sick.” She came and hugged him without hesitation. He felt frozen back; he slowly allowed him to hold her back. 

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled. “Won’t happen again.” He rested his chin on her shoulder and she did the same to him. It was fine for a moment like nothing had changed from yesterday to today. But then he smelled something sweet. 

“Did you get a new perfume?” He broke their silence.   
“No? I’m not wearing any at all.” She pulled back.   
Nick felt his stomach jerk.   
“I’m sorry, I must be smelling the roses next door.” He lied and he pushed her hair away from her neck to behind her shoulder. He stared long and hard at the crook of her neck. 

“Nick, are you alright?” She broke his reverie.   
“What? Oh, yeah.”  
“Are you hungry?” She asked.  
“I’m a bit peckish, yeah.” 

He pulled her hair back over her neck but all it did was send more waifs of smells into the air. He followed her inside.

-

He gazed at the boiled ham and parsley sauce for too long, wondering if he could even eat it. Would it make him ill?   
“Nick?” Rachel asked, holding his wrist.   
“I’m sorry, just a bit knackered.”  
“Are you going to tell me what happened last night?”

His mind flipped over multiple lies, he decided to settle on the most and least believable. 

“I was offered a job.”  
“A job?”  
“Yeah, with a retainer and everything.”  
“For who?”   
“A family.” He rubbed his forehead. “Lotta details had to be set up, and they invited me to drink to celebrate. And I know you don’t like drunkards.” He averted eye contact.   
“You don’t drink?” She was confused.   
“I know, I just wanted to fit in I suppose, they own a bar.” He kept digging his grave deeper.   
“How much are they giving you?”   
“Thousand a month.” He felt his gut punched.   
“Wow!” She was a bit shocked. “I know how much you’ve wanted to leave the duty pool.”   
“I’ll still be doing that too I think.”  
“Oh love, you’re already so overworked.” 

He hated lying to her, but what was the alternative. It wasn’t a total lie; they did say they needed a regular solicitor. 

“We should celebrate,” she said excitedly. “We should go out to dinner after church tomorrow.”   
“That sounds good.” He was filled with dread. 

-

“Mrs. Mercer is your husband in, it’s Hal Yorke. Yes, yes it has been a while. How’ve you been? Good.” Hal sat back in his office chair waiting for their mundane conversation to be over. Her voice told him that she didn't know a thing. She was a simple-minded woman who surely wouldn’t handle the reveal. 

“Yes?”   
“Robert, I wanted to apologize for my behavior from a few weeks ago. I know how stressful your line of work can be.” Hal twisted the phone line. There was a notable silence.   
“Thank you, Hal.”  
“Not a problem old chap.” Hal lied. “I was wondering if you’d be able to drop by The Keep with some bank papers for me. I’m thinking about switching. Perhaps we could have a brandy to celebrate.” 

“Gosh, alright. Uh, I can drop in on Monday if that works.”   
“Pity, I was hoping Sunday could work.”   
“Terribly sorry, the misses and I have communion.”

Hal frowned. “Monday’s fine.” He hung up the phone. He wanted to get this over with. 

-

Nick sat alone in their bedroom. Rachel was still preparing for bed. He could hear her humming downstairs and the steady tick of the grandfather clock. He stared straight ahead out the window across from the bed. It was pitch black, but he could see the stars with ease and all little houses and flats in the distance. But still, he heard that tick, always counting down. 

When she came to bed it was lights out. It was a new moon outside but the room still felt illuminated like it was full. 

“Nick…” she whispered.   
“Hmm?”   
“I think we should try for it.” She kept her voice low and turned towards him.   
“For wha- oh.” Babies, children, a dog, and a fence, suburban bliss.   
“Since everything is finally falling into place, and I won’t have to work as much anymore.” She let her words grow smaller in sound.   
“Yeah, that sounds good.” He finally turned to her.   
She did that adorable lip-biting smile.   
“You mean it?” She asked.  
“Yes.” 

She stretched to kiss him. He once again hated lying to her. As he attempted to sleep he could only listen to the clock. 

-

They were slow to get up on Sunday morning. 

“Do we have to?” Nick said in a singsong way.   
“I promised my sister we wouldn’t miss another Sunday, you know how fussy she can get.”  
“Don’t remind me.”

He didn’t know if he could bear interacting with Marybeth today of all days. She was uptight, demanding, and often just mean. He knew she didn’t like him and she knew he didn’t like her. Was it even safe for him to be near her? 

“It’s only a few hours, I told her we can’t make brunch with her and Randy, but she’s still going to insist, and depending on how the morning goes we might not have a choice.”  
Randy was the other half of Marybeth. He was a doctor from America, they met in France during the war. Unlike her sister, Marybeth was stationed near the frontlines as a nurse. They already had a little boy and a big house and garden, and even a dog. Nick groaned loudly.

“Please try to behave yourself.” Rachel chastised him. Nick smiled at her furrowed face.   
“Try telling her that.” 

-

It was almost a two-kilometer walk to the small Anglican church, but at ten paces away, Nick felt a throbbing pain in his forehead. It got worse as they approached. Then it dawned on him why. He stared up at the cross topped steeple and the pain was unbearable. He truly was damned. 

Rachel noticed his flinching.   
“Nick are you alright? Do you have an ache?” She stopped their walk.   
“Yeah, no I think it’s one of those migraine things I read about.”   
“Oh my, do we need to see a doctor?”

“Did someone say, doctor?” A man came and hugged but both Nick and Rachel from behind.   
“Oh hi, Randy!” Rachel choked. He was too touchy, an American thing perhaps. 

“Yes, Nick has one of those migraines.”   
“Ouch, my friend.” He squeezed Nick’s shoulder. “Little clammy too. I can get you some acetaminophen if-“   
“No, it’s fine, Randy.” Nick snapped. Randy backed off. 

“There you are, love.” Marybeth came strutting down the pavement. She looked like Rachel, but more severe and shrew-like. She held her toddler son like a sack of potatoes. He looked quite uncomfortable. 

“Good morning darling.” She hugged Rachel. “Nick.” She nodded and he nodded back.   
“How are you, Marybeth?” He didn’t care to know.  
“I’m fine, you’ll have to regal me with all the details from Friday night.” She said haughtily. 

“Mary, please.” Rachel hushed her.   
“Well, poor Nicky here has a textbook migraine, so I think he’s worse for the world right now anyways.” Randy butted in.  
“Convenient.” Marybeth frowned. “Hopefully it’ll go away before my brunch today.”

“Next time, Mary.” Rachel put her foot down.   
“Ow.” Nick cursed as he tried to look at the church again. He didn’t know if he’d catch flame if he stepped inside.   
“Fine. I’ll hold you to it.” 

Off in the close distance, Robert Mercer had stepped into the church. Nick had caught Robert’s eye. His brow furrowed and he watched Nick wince at the sight of the church cross. Nick’s gaze drifted down to Robert. They locked eyes for only a second. That second chilled Robert to the bone. 

-

Nick and Rachel laid side by side on their bed, there was an uncomfortable silence. 

“We can try again tomorrow or sometime next week.” Rachel said softly. Nick would die of embarrassment if he weren’t already dead. 

They had attempted to make love, but fear gripped Nick. What if he hurt her. Seeing her long expanses of skin, soft and warm from her beating heart. He put a stop to it when he felt his fangs erupt without warning. He jumped away from her, fear racking him. He asked if he hurt her. She was fine but confused. 

What was he even doing with her, he doubted she’d even conceive now with him. And if she did, would the child be damned as well? The Antichrist, perhaps? 

“I’m sorry.” They both said at once. 

-

July 24, 1950 

Robert Mercer took off his hat as he entered the false-front pub, a bundle of papers were under his arm. 

Inside was a cramped room with a few tables and a small bar. Everything looked dreadfully old. He looked dreadfully old. He passed a mirror by the entryway, he still was shocked by the deep wrinkles across his face and his sagging chin. He always found it funny that a den of vampires had a mirror. Perhaps to tell friends from prey. He was the prey, he felt uneasy and rocking like a bucket of chum in shark-infested waters. 

Hal and Fergus waited for him at the bar, while Dennis and a few others mingled in the tables. 

“Robert, you’re looking well.”   
“Hal I’ve known you for 25 years, I know when you’re lying to me, but thank you.”   
“Ah, always filled with such dry wit.” Hal laughed.   
“Don’t know why you have the whole brigade here though? I’ve only brought the papers for you to sign.” Robert looked over his shoulder. No one had any drinks with them. 

“We’re celebrating, my friend,” Hal withdrew a pen from his inner pocket.   
“Celebrating switching banks?” Robert laughed. They were a theatrical bunch.   
“No, of course not, we’re celebrating you.”   
“Me?”   
“Yes you, and your son graduating from university, as a…” Hal paused.  
“He wants to be a barrister. But Hal, that’s not for another few months.”   
“Alright, I tried to bury the lead, but we are celebrating.” Hal pulled two small glasses and a bottle of Robert’s favorite brandy from behind the bar.   
“We’re celebrating many things.” Hal poured a large amount in each glass. It shouldn’t have made Robert excited but it did. 

“We’re celebrating you and the work you’ve done for us over the two and a half decades you've been with our little family.” Hal handed Robert a glass.   
“Don’t look a day over 40.” Fergus jabbed. Robert laughed back.   
“I don’t know what to say.” Robert took a small sip. The warmth eased him.   
“Ah-ah, Robert, you old dog, I wasn’t finished with my toast.” Hal tapped his glass.   
“I also want to celebrate our new recruit, who unfortunately isn’t here, and his new stead as our family solicitor.” Hal smiled, he wished Nick were there, he wanted him to watch what came next. 

“The bloody hell? You’re firing me over a toast?!” Robert slammed down the glass.   
“Think of it as a retirement.” Hal squeezed his arm. Robert violently ripped it away. 

“No, no, you can’t do that. I have a family that I need to support.”   
“Support them by retiring and stop drinking your savings away.” Hal’s tone changed dramatically.   
“He’s a child! Your new solicitor! Still in nappies when I met your godforsaken lot!” He slammed a fist on the table. 

“You’re trading me, a tried and true attorney for a burnout bound wunderkind?!” He shouted. Hal seemed unphased.   
“Why I ought-“ Robert had an unexpected pause. It felt like the air was being ripped from his body. He’d breathe but it felt like his lungs were flattened.   
“W-what d-d-did you do to m-me?” His chest began to hurt.

“Laudanum,” Hal said with a smile. “In the brandy.” Hal pointed to the glasses. He lifted his own glass to his lips, savoring the smell before sipping. 

“Luckily, it has no effect on us. But it does have an effect on your kind, those with your age and conditions are greatly at risk. Especially when mixed with alcohol, it becomes rather toxic.” Hal poured Robert’s drink on to his face. 

“Your death will be ruled a heart and respiratory failure due to excessive drinking.” He’d poured the brandy on him to make him smell like a drunkard. 

“Why?” Robert fell to his knees.   
“Because you know too much Robert. We know you wouldn’t leave peacefully so this is for our protection.” Hal pushed him down. 

Hal was wrong, his son, Robert Jr. knew. Or he would know shortly. Robert had prepared him a letter to be given to him in the event of his death. Robert always thought he’d take his place. His eyes stung with tears and oxygen deprivation. 

“They’ll take one look at you and see accidental death. Thus you will be of service to us one last time. Fergus, please?” Hal snapped his fingers. 

Fergus crossed behind the bar and brought back a bucket and a sharpened ice pick. 

“You should’ve left when you had the chance.” Hal gripped the pick. He then sent it sharply into Robert’s neck. The blood flowed out in a quick stream, splashing in the bucket. Robert’s panicked heart charged on but he felt everything fading away.  
“Don’t worry old friend, We’ll take care of your arrangements and your family will be paid the rest of your retainer till the end of the year.” Hal forced the man’s eyes shut. 

And just like that, he was gone. 

-

Nick left before Rachel woke up. The sun was barely in the sky. He decided to go to work. Maybe normalcy would help, he lied to himself. 

He sat as far as he could from other passengers on the train. All their hearts beat like the clock he listened to when he’d pretend to sleep. He hadn’t slept since he was dead last Friday. 

When he made it to the courthouse, all was fine. The world hadn’t fallen off its axis, and there were the same idiots in the holding cells. All in need of his “expertise.” He had to laugh, if he just tried less or be more like Jonathan or any number of overworked duty solicitors, he wouldn’t be standing on the court steps thinking about ripping into every neck in sight. 

Once inside he became drawn to the rickety elevator he took Friday night down to the holding cells. Like some kind of zombie, he marched onto it. 

Down in the cells, he walked slowly to the Cell. The solitary row was it’s normal volume of moaning and screeching, not like it was on Friday. The Cell’s door was unlocked. He pressed inside.   
It was empty and cleaner than usual, smelling strongly of ammonia. He looked on the ground where he laid dying. There was an unmistakable dark stain in the concrete floor. A stain that would remain there for decades, maybe a century. A constant reminder of what was, and it made him sick. 

“Eh, what're you doing down there?! It’s officers only!” 

Nick recognized the voice. It was Roy Mallory. His face went white as a sheet when he saw Nick.

“Gah- I’m, I’m so sorry. Y-you’re alive.”   
“Shut up.” Nick hissed and marched out of the cell. He wasn’t an aggressive person before Friday, but after all, he felt was anger. This was a catalyst. 

He pressed Roy up against the corridor wall, knocking the wind clean out of him.   
“P-please! I’m sorry! I’m in-in debt.” He whined.   
“How was that my problem?!” Nick shouted loud enough for the groans of the inmates to stop. Roy’s feet were starting to come off the ground. He’d avoided eye contact with Nick. 

“Look me in the eyes!” Nick snapped. He’d manifested in the man’s face, fangs, and pitch-black eyes. 

“I’m sorry! Please don’t hurt me! I have a family!” Roy’s face contorted with fear, a stream of piss rolled down his leg. 

Nick let him slide down to the ground. He was letting the monster win. This man was just as scared as he was, maybe even more. 

“Where are they?” Nick sighed.   
“They have this mortuary…” “I know about that one, where else?”   
“There’s a pub, except not in a real sense, it’s called The Keep, it’s close to the mortuary.” Roy choked. 

Nick took his cue to leave. 

-

“Eh, look who’s here,” Fergus looked out the thick curtains of The Keep, Hal darted over. Nick was scoping out the place, working up the courage to enter. 

“Hurry, get him out of here!” Hal pushed Fergus towards Robert Mercer’s corpse. He dragged the body into the back storeroom. Coming back for the bucket of blood.

Nick could smell a familiar scent emanating from the door. It made him anxious and his teeth on edge. He worked up the courage to barge into the pub. The smell inside was practically unbearable. 

“Mr. Cutler, we’ve been waiting for you to return to us,” Hal said smoothly. Nick's eyes focused on him like daggers. 

“Oh, still angry I see.” Hal read his face.   
“No,” Nick didn’t know how to carry on the sentence. He wasn’t sure what he felt. Only one feeling rose to the top. Hunger. 

“You look pale my friend, when was the last time you fed? No doubt you’ve been trying to get by on disgusting human food, cooked by that little wife of yours.” Hal smiled. 

“Saturday.” Nick bit the inside of his cheek. A cold metallic taste filled his mouth. The new wound disappeared as quickly as it appeared.   
“Well, you’re in luck, we have just procured a new batch of what you need,” Hal said. Fergus came back with a crystal pitcher. 

“Please, Mr. Cutler, it’s getting cold.” 

Nick untethered his feet from the floor and almost glided to the blood. Drawn in like a moth to a flame. Hal reaches up to the hanging wine glasses, they were dusty from neglect. Nick watched Hal blow away the dust. His breath smelled of brandy and the sweetness of decay. It made Nick bite his cheek again. 

The room waited in anticipation for this new recruit to cement himself as their own. Also they wanted to partake in the ghoulish sangria. 

“C’mon, I want to see your teeth.” Hal was being coy and he poured a glass. “If it makes you feel better, pretend it’s wine.” 

Nick didn’t care what they called it, he wanted it badly. His fingers grazed Hal’s as he grabbed the glass. Electric shock. 

He put the whole glass down within seconds. Without meaning to, his teeth erupted causing a trickle of blood to pour down his chin. Hal’s smile grew as he went to refill the glass. Before he could, Nick pulled the pitcher from his hands and drank the whole of it in an instant. 

“My, my, greedy one.” Hal laughed. “Soon you’ll be able to enjoy it from the source, and I’ll have you know it’s exquisite,” Hal said. “You were exquisite to me.” Hal smiled, admiring his work. Shiny new teeth and a dark hunger. 

In a flash of anger and lust at Hal’s words, he shattered the pitcher with his bare hands. Bloody shards splattered across the wood floor. 

“I’m going now.” Nick hissed at Hal. He felt hot and felt a sense of adrenaline as his feet crunched the glass and he stormed out of the pub. He felt ravenous and on fire. He headed towards home. 

“That was fine crystal, Hal!” Fergus snapped. “Now there’s hardly any for the rest of us too!” 

Hal only grinned as he examined the pieces. 

“He’s strong. I want to draw out that anger again.” It made him excited. 

-

Nick felt invincible as he reached home on foot. Like his heart was beating at full speed. Both human and superhuman. 

Finneas saw Nick coming up the path and immediately rushed inside his home. Nick looked unhinged. 

“Nick? Why are you home so earl-“ Rachel had been attempting to prune the bushes out front when Nick came up and planted a rough kiss before she could finish her sentence. 

“Oh, my…” Rachel felt flustered.   
“We should go inside.” Nick hushed her, holding on to her shoulders. 

“There’s blood on your face, love?”   
“Bit my cheek.” He pulled her across the garden and up the stairs. 

Inside there was a frenzy of kisses. He had ripped open her button-up blouse and rested her against the stairs. She’d pulled his shirt from his waist and exposed cold skin. Ice and warmth. 

He pulled her off the stairs and carried her upstairs. She latched to his neck and pondered its coldness for only a second. 

He laid her on the bedspread, mouthing on her neck and chest, I love yous. Sharp teeth grazed her body, fangs still extended. He pulled her skirt and knickers down, almost ripping them. He went down between her thighs. She almost screamed but covered her mouth as she attempted to sit up. She laid back down and shook with pleasure. 

He came up between her legs and traced up her torso. He wondered what else she tasted like. That thought went away when she sat forward to pull down his trousers. There was no hesitation anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the pud name from another fanfic on here :)
> 
> idk if the last part counted as smut


	4. Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unlike most newborns, Nick is not drawn to killing, but his need is starting to outgrow his morality. Rachel finds brief happiness. And the unexpected son of a former solicitor appears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for blood.

There were faint bite marks across her body. She smiled as she prepared for work the next morning. That was nothing like she’d ever experienced before. 

When she went to say goodbye, he was already gone. Perhaps this new job was just what they both needed. 

She hopped on the bus towards her hospital, smiling the whole way. When she got there she smiled at everyone she passed. 

“Someone looks excited to file this paperwork.” Her coworker chuckled as she approached.   
“Always,” Rachel laughed. “Good morning too.”   
“So what’s with the smiles?”   
“Everything is changing for the better.”   
“How so?”   
“Well, Nick got a new job and I think it’s brought some new life to him.” Rachel paused. “We also are maybe going to finally start a family.” 

“Wow, congratulations to the both of you! It’ll be a shame when you leave to be a mum, but I’m still happy for you.” Her coworker came around the tall desk to embrace her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. 

“I see you’ve already gotten started on that family.” 

Rachel’s face turned to confusion and shock. Her coworker giggled and pointed to her own under jaw and neck. Rachel wrestled through her bag for her powder and mirror. She had a faint red bite on her upper neck. 

“Oh my, my, how embarrassing.” Rachel began to cake on the powder. 

“S’okay, I'll just have you work in the back today.” Her coworker laughed. 

-

Nick too felt invigorated. Not even the monotony of the daily cases could dampen him. But it all came to stand still when he was halfway through the day. 

He stood in the courtroom, ready to make the defense statement for a man accused of petty theft when the judge gave himself a nasty paper cut. It was so bad it began to drip blood. 

“Bloody hell,” he cursed fumbling for his handkerchief.   
Nick was frozen as the room filled up the sweet scent from the mild gore. The edges of his vision became fuzzy and he stared at the cut and the white cloth growing red by the second. 

“As you were, young man,” the judge gripped his wound to curb the flow. A few drops stained the paper. An unfazed bailiff brought them over to Nick. Nick gripped the paper so hard the edges began to crimp and tear.

“Mr. Cutler, we do not have all day.” The judge snipped.  
“Uh, ah, I need a minute.” Nick broke his concentration and rushed out of the room. He ran unbelievably fast to the washrooms at the back of the courthouse.

He put the faucet at full blast and took deep useless breaths, hanging his head down to watch the water. He looked up to find no reflection in the grimy mirror. He still wasn’t used to that, unsure if he ever would be

“Christ.” He hissed under his breath. The word stung in his mouth. His body racked with a painful ache. He had no other option than to go back to the mortuary, this was no way to carry on.   
-

Fergus sat in the main parlor of the mortuary playing a game of solitaire while smoking a cigarette when he heard a bang on the locked door. Fergus sighed. 

He cracked the door open. “We’re closed.”  
The door was pushed in by the knocker. 

“I want to see him,” Nick said as Fergus stumbled backward.   
“He isn’t here.”   
“You’re lying.” Nick bluffed. 

Suddenly a door down a long dark hall opened. Hal almost glided towards them. 

“Mr. Cutler, what a splendid surprise, you’ve come back to us at last.”   
“I’m ready to join you.” Nick felt it was slightly rash, but he couldn’t just tear the world apart, could he? A devilish smile spread across Hal’s face.   
“Thought you’d never ask. Fergus was convinced you were a lost cause, but here you are, and we will do great things together.”   
“Yeah.” Nick felt woozy.  
“You’ll of course work for us in exchange for a wealth of knowledge,” Hal paused. “And also a sizable retainer, can’t have that little wife of yours worry.” Hal became bitter at the word, “wife.” It made Nick shudder. 

“She knows nothing… she’ll know nothing,” Nick said.  
Fergus and Hal exchanged glances. It was only a waiting game. 

-

“The job mostly entails our business dealings, real estate, and such. But also a situation that requires keenness and a bit of creativity.” Hal had taken Nick to his dim and overly furnished office. The walls were adorned with floor to ceiling bookshelves. Hundreds of volumes of books and priceless tomes, in languages from across the globe. Then there were detailed paintings showing a spectrum of color despite the darkness of the room. Nick stared intently at the long dried mounds of caked oil paint. 

“Forgive the clutter. We are thinking of moving our operations.”   
“That’s something I would find,” Nick said.   
“Yes.” Hal smiled.   
“What requires ‘creativity?’” Nick hadn’t forgotten.   
“Well, we have a bit of an underground business.”  
“Under law?” Nick figured.   
Hal liked the sharpness. 

“Yes. It’s gambling.”   
The word, “dogfights,” flashed in Nick’s mind.   
“But you already knew that.” Hal gave a small squeeze to Nick’s arm,it made him shudder. How many people had he done this to, how many sat in this room at his mercy. “Please sit.” Hal pushed him into the red velvet chair. 

Hal went to the other side of the desk and Nick heard him open one of the heavy wooden drawers. Hal places three reams of papers on the desk. 

“All of the numbers from New Years to now.” 

Nick had to stand again to thumb through the paper. It was pages of betting numbers, loans, debts, everything. 

“These aren’t normal dogfights are they?” Nick became lost in the meticulousness of the records.   
“No, I’ll be sure to show you someday, maybe when you’re ready. Don’t want to scare you away again.” Hal was only half-joking. The boy wouldn’t be able to handle such a grotesque event this early. The next full moon wasn’t for weeks. Nick didn’t want to press the subject. 

He gripped the newest term and fell back into the chair still enamored at the scale of it all. 

“The problem with these fights is that all our profits cannot be used. We can’t buy new investments or even expand.”   
“No taxes are deducted.” Nick interrupted. The Crown needed Its share. 

“Yes, so we need it to be taxed, but you can only do that with a legitimate business.”   
“You’ll need a front that generates more profit, so you can infuse this with it.” Nick motioned with the papers.   
“Yes, very good. And you can imagine a mortuary and a pub aren’t very good at that.” Hal came back around the desk and leaned against the top, almost sitting on it to be closer to Nick. 

“The mortuary was our last solicitor’s idea. It was probably a cruel joke more than anything.” Hal sighed.   
“So you need a business that doesn’t only make money when someone dies… there are lots of other businesses that can do that. You could do a shipping-“ Hal was smiling at Nick. 

“Uh, also I wanted to ask about…” Nick felt a phantom heartbeat in his head.   
“The blood.” Hal must’ve read his mind. “Not to worry, I will help then you will help yourself.” 

Nick swallowed, it felt like his mouth and throat dried out. He would have to kill. He pushed the last word back into the shadows of his mind. 

“It’s going to be perfect.” Hal had put his fingers under Nick’s chin, lifting it slightly. He felt a shiver against the cold skin. 

-

The mundane legal work came easier than the other parts of this new job. It took him half the time it did before to pour over his legal books, refreshing his memory on business law. He’d sit in the downstairs parlor after Rachel fell asleep. Reading full volumes in less than two hours. 

But there was a growing dread. It sat like a rock in his stomach. Hal had kept him fed as he settled in but he could feel that running thin. Less and less blood came to his lips. It left him cold and starved. He became more irritable, even Rachel had begun to see the changes. 

The first few weeks he was filled with new vigor that kept her on her toes. It made easy work of trying for a baby. But in the last few days, it was like he barely noticed her. He’d spend most of the night in the parlor, reading everything in sight, but once all the books were read, she’d find him staring blankly out the window. 

The reading was a distraction from the itch of hunger and from the thoughts of killing. He wouldn’t be able to do it. He couldn’t. He was supposed to be a man of the law. But that life was gone.

When he pretended to get up for work Rachel grabbed his arm before he could leave the bed. 

“Are you okay?” She asked quietly.   
“Yes, of course.”   
“You don’t sleep anymore, and…” “I’m okay love.” He pushed her hand away. She curled into a ball once he left the room. She had a secret. 

-

Robert Mercer Jr. sat with his mother, he would rather be in his new flat in the city. She’d become overly clingy since his father’s death. Robert had other feelings. 

His dad had been a drunk for most of his childhood and it was only a matter of time before he drank himself to death. 

The postman came up with the mail. More condolence cards no doubt. But instead, there was only one red envelope, with only their address and his name on the back. 

“What is it, Bobby?”   
“Something from my school mom,” He guessed. Maybe it was his diploma since he’d missed his walk. But there was no return address, surely a university would have a return address.   
“Oh.” She sighed. She’d grown accustomed to the barrage of condolences, she fed off her grief. It’s all she had left. His older sisters had all moved far away. London, Copenhagen, and New York. He was stuck. He had plans to move with his girlfriend to Belfast or Paris, they hadn’t decided yet. 

“I’m gonna open it in dad’s office.” He called to her and he went up the creaky stairs. 

The home office was in a state of disarray; it was torn apart by past clients getting back their paperwork. Robert was also in the process of packing it up for charity. Dozens of out of print law books, his grandfather’s worn gavel and court wig, and old family portraits. 

He found his father’s long silver-coated letter opener. It looks more like a dull dagger than a letter opener. 

Inside was a small stack of fine parchment paper with scrawling letters. He recognized his father’s haphazard handwriting immediately. He was ready to chuck it but decided to humor the dead man by reading it in full. 

“Bobby, 

There are some things you need to know now that I’m gone. These things may save your life. Unfortunately, they probably won’t save mine.” 

Robert wanted to roll his eyes, but he kept going. 

“I am a damned man. I’ve been privy to unspeakable things. I need to, in some way, relieve my conscience. You know the men I worked for your whole life? They are not men at all. They are monsters. Not in a poetic way, but in the horror way. Remember when we watched that film with Bela Lugosi when you were little and you were scared to death of Dracula? The men I work for are the same monster. Vampires are real.” 

Robert had to stop reading. Was this some sick joke? 

“As I write this I’m in suspicion that they plan to do away with me. I’m no longer in my prime.” 

As if you had a prime. Robert scoffed.

“And these creatures know it. I suspect they’ll blame my drinking, but they’ll graciously cover my funeral costs and placate your mother with my pension.

I cannot lie. When I first worked for them it was amazing. I’d been working for your grandfather’s firm for a few years before he became a judge when I met them. They offered me everything. I was a hedon and accepted this new world in stride. I covered up their crimes. I filed their bloody building permits. I was their familiar, their mouthpiece and window to the dull masses. But the horrors I saw began to weigh on me after you were born. But I kept working, they paid me handsomely.”

Anything for money. Robert was ready to write off this as a drink induced rambling. 

“I tell you all of this because I want you to keep yourself safe, I want you to end them if you can. I’ve learned enough about their kind to know their weaknesses. 

They cannot enter a home without permission. This rule is incredibly important, however, one of them is able to without it. You will need to end him first. 

Next, they cannot look upon any holy object. For the last decade I’ve always worn a cross beneath my shirt and my handkerchief has one embroidered. 

They cannot be seen in mirrors, they have no reflection at all, even upon glass there is nothing. Along with this, they cannot be seen on film and in photographs. So their acts of violence can never be recorded. 

Finally, the way to dispatch them is a wooden stake through the heart. I saw it only once. They turn into smoke on the breeze. Carry a stake with you at all times from now on.” 

Robert rubbed his face in frustration. At best he hoped for an apology from the bastard, at worst a hidden will, but this was maddening. How could he put this on him? Expect him to kill with no evidence. One of these associates came to his funeral in a bloody church. 

He crumpled up the papers and shoved them under his bureau. Time to put away childish things. 

That night he tossed and turned. Agonizing over the letter. “What if’s” filled his head. Would it hurt to humor his father or would it put him in the danger he described. In the early morning he uncrumpled the papers. His father had left an address at the bottom of the final page. No “I love you,” no “I’m proud of you.” Just an address and a daunting task. The back of the page read, “Tell No One.” 

He sighed and went back to sleep.

-

“You’re becoming too dependent, you need to learn how to feed.” Hal dropped a bomb on Nick. It made his stomach do flips. 

“Is it not enough for me to work for you.”   
“That’s human business, this is our nature’s business.”   
“I don’t want to kill.”  
“You’ve already have, indirectly of course, but your appetite has demanded death,” Hal smirked. It nauseated Nick. 

“I thought you’d say as much, so I have a compromise.” Hal flicked a switch that didn’t seem to turn on anything. Nick’s empty chest heaved. 

There came a knock on the door. Hal opened the dark, heavy door and outstretched his arm to invite a woman into the room. Nick could smell her already and hear her heartbeat. 

“Cutler, this is Cindy.” Hal introduced the dazed-looking woman. She wore an outrageously short dress with capped short sleeves. Nick noticed the bite marks on her arms and legs. 

“Hello.” He could smell her wounds, leaving the air salty like a sea breeze. She seemed drugged up. 

“Cindy would like very much to be your first real drink.”   
Hal was feeding off Nick's discomfort. The woman immediately offered up her arm. Her unmarked wrist was inches from him. He couldn’t control his fangs from erupting. 

“Christ, I’m sorry.” Nick covered his mouth. Hal chuckled. 

“You know I love your newborn fangs.” Hal roughly grabbed the woman’s arm and forced her closer to Nick.   
“Drink.” She whispered. 

Nick squeezed his eyes shut and prayed it was just a dream, but her scent was unbearable. 

“Drink,” she said louder. 

Like some sort of robot, Nick felt up the length of her arm and gently took her hand. She gave a small smile. 

He hesitated before biting into her peach-colored wrist. His teeth cut much smoother than he expected. Sharp as razor blades. She slightly flinched and gave a quiet whimper. 

Nick could feel her heart help his hunger along, forcing even more warm blood into his mouth. Her heart began to flutter and he pulled back from her. 

“I’m sorry!” He shouted.   
“Such self control. No wonder you haven’t killed yet.” Hal laughed. “Most newborns kill indiscriminately, but not you. You’re disciplined.” Hal beamed. Just a moment ago that was a bad thing. 

Nick wiped away the excess blood from his mouth. He wanted desperately to lick his hand clean, but he settled for licking his teeth, his fangs still stood. 

“Get out.” Hal jabbed Cindy, she stumbled across the room and left. Hal slinked over to Nick. He adjusted Nick’s collar and smiled. He grazed the outside of his fingers on Nick’s cheek: he then roughly gripped Nick’s chin, forcing his mouth slightly open. 

“Next time, you need to kill.” He said softly. Nick felt paralyzed. Hal used his thumb tip to test his fangs. He could taste the cold metallic blood from Hal’s cut from the tooth. 

“Don’t want to waste these.” 

The puncture wound began to heal immediately. Nick was only somewhat shocked at this ability. He felt the urge to press the wound back into his mouth. Maybe the index finger too, cutting into them and savoring the salty blood. He shook off the fantasy. He felt an unnatural attraction to Hal. 

Of course, he loved the gentler sex and fancied many of them. But it wasn’t the first time he’d felt this way about another man. But those crushes paled in comparison to what he felt for his cruel maker. 

“I… I can’t.” He whispered.   
“You’ll learn.” 

-

Rachel hated how long Nick was away every day. He used to get home just after her shift at the hospital, but now he would be gone till 10 or later many days. 

She longed to tell him her secret but he was always gone. It made her worried. What was he doing? An affair? No, Nick wasn’t the type. Drinking? No, his father was an angry drunk who terrorized his wife and son, a man who still threw fits at every gathering. She stored her thoughts into the back of her mind. 

She decided to go to her sister’s for dinner one night, just to escape the silent house. She also wanted to share her good news. 

-

After the hearty dinner of lamb and potatoes she and her sister sat in the parlor with a pot of tea between the two of them. Randy had gone to bed, he had an early shift the next day. And little Thomas was asleep in his crib. 

“So you were alluding to some news?” Marybeth took a tiny sip of the anemic tea and milk.   
“Yes, I don’t want to jinx it though, it’s still too early to be sure…”   
“Oh please, out with it,” Marybeth demanded. 

“I’m late.” Rachel said in a whisper, hoping that a cruel universe wouldn’t hear.   
“Late? What?... Oh!” Marybeth exclaimed.   
“How very exciting?” She said. 

“I’m so happy. It’s the perfect time.”  
“Does he know?” Marybeth referred to Nick.   
“No, I’m trying to come up with the right time, he’s so busy now. Hardly hom…” she stopped. That was information her sister didn’t need to know. Marybeth already had a strained relationship with Nick, Rachel didn’t want to add to it. 

“I was thinking I’d make his favorite dinner and make a real occasion of it.” Rachel said.   
“You’re too good for him.” Marybeth huffed.   
“Mary,” Rachel said sternly. 

“What are you hoping for?” Marybeth changed the subject.  
“Well, I think every father wants a boy…”  
“No, what do YOU want?” Marybeth reiterated.   
Rachel thought for a moment. “I hope it’s a girl. I want to share all the things mum used to do with us as kids.” Rachel kept her voice low. 

“Well I think Nick will be happy with either so long as you’re happy,” Marybeth said.   
“Mary, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said about Nick.” Rachel chuckled.   
“Don’t tell him I said that.” Marybeth laughed. 

-

After his upsetting encounter with Hal, Nick wanted to go home. To hide in some closet or cabinet. To shrink and disappear. But Rachel was likely home so he couldn’t go there. He chose to walk. He walked for hours until the sky began to show the first signs of dusk. His feet had finally begun to feel sore as he made it home. 

Blissfully Rachel wasn’t home. He collapsed on their davenport. He actually fell asleep this time. His mind finally filtered out the ticking grandfather clock, but there were no dreams in its stead, just the silent dark. 

When Rachel saw Nick passed out on the sofa she elected to leave him there. He hardly slept recently and she didn’t want to stir him. She carefully crept up the stairs and washed up before bed. 

-

It wasn’t the shriek that woke Nick first. It was the sickly scent of blood permeating the midnight air.

“Rachel?” He choked. The scent of blood was overwhelming. He moved like a zombie up the steps to their little bathroom where the scent trail was strongest.

“Rach…” the door squeaked as it opened with just a nudge of his fingertips. It was a grizzly scene. 

Heavy drops of blood lead a trail to a large pool. It looked almost black in the dark. Rachel sat above the pool of the equally stained porcelain toilet. She was crying, she looked up at him and sobbed louder. 

Nick was speechless as he entered. His stomach did flips, jumping from desire to horror over and over. His mouth became wet as he crept towards her, and got down to his knees and looked up at her. Her hands were stained too as she used them to hide her face. 

“I thought I was… I was so sure.” She sobbed.   
Nick didn’t need to ask what she meant. He knew. But the scene was beginning to be overwhelming. He absent-mindedly grazed his fingertips in the blood that dripped down her legs. He sat staring at it and it had begun to scare Rachel.

“Nick, I’m so sorry.” She whispered. Instead of helping her wash up as any good man would’ve, he left her. He stood like a robot and kept walking till he was far down the street and he couldn’t see their house anymore. 

Perhaps it was better than staying. He couldn’t bear that sight or smell. It made him hungry and it sickened himself even more. Monstrous. He’d failed her. 

He found himself outside of The Keep. It looked deserted but he sensed movement inside.


	5. Implosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This creature softened my heart of stone. She died and with her died my last warm feelings for humanity.” -Stalin, 1907

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shit has hit the fan folks. 
> 
> TW for lots of blood and gore.

Rachel didn’t talk to Nick for a week. Only a chaste kiss before work with a good morning and another with a goodnight. 

She finally broke the silence.

“Nick will you…” “I’m sorry.” He interrupted. “I’m so very sorry… I just.” He wanted to tell her everything.  
“I need you to come with me to my doctor’s appointment.”  
“Oh.”  
“It’s okay Nick. I just don't know why you didn’t say anything.” Rachel sighed. 

“I don’t know. It was just too much.” He stopped.  
“Too much blood.”  
“I didn’t know you were so averse to it.”  
“I don’t know.” He knew.  
“Well whatever it was, I needed you.”  
“I know and I’m so so sorry. I’m not gonna do that again. I’m not going to leave.” 

-

“Mrs. Cutler?” A doctor stepped into the sparse lobby of the women’s ward. Rachel squeezed Nick's hand and she stood. He followed behind as they went to the doctor’s office. 

“Mrs. Cutler, we couldn’t find any indication that you were pregnant at all, to begin with.” The doctor showed her the blood results. Rachel sat stunned. 

“What, I felt…”  
“We think you had what’s known as a hysterical pregnancy, it’s quite common.” The doctor seemed cold. “But the most important thing I want to discuss after your examination is your ability to conceive at all.” He pulled out more paper. Nick felt Rachel tense up as she gripped his hand. 

“We found cysts and uterine abnormalities that have led to my conclusion that you are infertile.” 

Rachel felt woozy and the doctor’s voice seemed to elongate and distort. 

“Now this doesn’t mean pregnancy is out of the realm of possibility but that your chances are less than 10% to conceive, but even then you’ll have a high chance of miscarriage.” The doctor finished. 

-

In the weeks after her news, Rachel found herself at her sister’s home. She played with Thomas and chatted and cried with her sister. Marybeth was uncharacteristically kind and understanding. 

Nick’s work continued to put distance between him and Rachel. It put him at a distance from humanity. He had normal court but in the evening he worked for Hal in exchange for blood. But he could feel Hal growing impatient with his reluctance. 

“You’re turning out to be not much different than a human lawyer, Cutler.” He remarked.  
“What?” Nick looked up from the business documents.  
“Nothing.” Hal pursed his lips. “You are not what I expected. You’re still afraid. You’re still holding on to something that isn’t there.” 

“Yeah? And who took that from me?” Nick snapped. He pushed all the papers onto the floor.  
Hal smiled, he liked it when Nick got upset. It was chipping away at his facade as the cool and collected solicitor from musty Liverpool. 

Nick gritted his teeth. He knew he couldn’t carry on like this. “What do you want me to do then.” He clenched his jaw. 

“Whatever I say.”  
“What do you say?” Nick asked, trying to keep his voice even.  
“I want you to hunt with Fergus.” 

Nick hated Fergus, he made his skin crawl. But now his stomach flipped at the thought of hunting. This wasn’t some fox hunt or fishing. Hal meant something more sinister. 

“Tonight.”  
“But my…” “But what?” Hal made a half-smile.  
“Nothing.” 

-

Fergus didn’t say much to Nick as they stalked the allies and pubs around downtown. He chatted up every woman in his vicinity and grumbled with every man. Nick stayed behind just observing. 

When they left the pub it was almost 10pm and Fergus was tired of waiting for Nick to choose someone. When they both saw a young woman turn down a back alley, Fergus jabbed Nick to follow her. 

Nick swallowed his fear but it sat like a rock in his throat. He’d never committed a crime before, not even stealing candy as a boy. He was supposed to uphold and interpret the law. Human law. 

The woman was strangely oblivious to Nick’s stalking of her. Fergus stayed close behind and egged Nick on silently. 

Nick’s heart would’ve been pounding if it still beat. He sped closer and closer and was able to gently rip off her neck scarf. He quickly stepped back. 

“Ma’am, I think you dropped this.” He held out the scarf to the startled woman.  
“Oh my!” She gasped. Nick felt her heart flutter and he felt his mouth water.  
When she went to grab the cloth, he gripped it harder and wouldn’t let her take it. 

“Sir?” She managed to say. Nick felt frozen. He snapped and used the scarf like a tether and pulled her closer. He pushed her down and didn’t hesitate to bite into her neck. She shrieked but only for a second before Fergus arrived and gagged her with the scarf. She began to weep by then. 

Nick felt her heartbeat begin to fail and he pulled back.  
“I can’t!” He dropped her to the grimy ground. “I just can’t.” He backed off almost stumbling back to the ground as he covered his mouth. 

Fergus rolled his eyes and went in to finish the job. 

-

Fergus had loaded the woman’s body into the back of the car they came in. He didn’t say a word until they reached the Keep. Nick still sucked on his teeth for any remaining blood. 

“He’s not gonna be happy.” Fergus put the car into park, roughly pulling on the parking brake.  
It made Nick’s stomach burn. 

Fergus shoved Nick into Hal’s study, shaking his head. 

“Mr. Cutler.” Hal clicked his teeth. He was practically seething.  
“I couldn’t, I just couldn’t.”  
“I don’t know how your little wife puts up with a man who can’t finish what he’s started.” Hal snipped.  
“You don’t know what you're talking about.”  
“I don’t?” Hal feigned surprise. Nick remained silent, he felt a wave of bubbling anger.  
“Well, you’ll be helping me get rid of the corpse.” Hal sighed and patted Nick’s shoulder. Nick clenched his fists. 

-

That was their delicate deal, a sort of truce. Nick would be their council and would make the corpses disappear. In exchange for what he couldn’t live without. But it was barely living at all. 

He’d watch Fergus and the other meatheads hunt and he’d clean up the mess. His share of the catch began to shrink as weeks passed. A painful itch and fear developed. He felt fragile, not like a crystal glass, but an unexploded land mine. A nuclear option. But he had his mind to control it, but he could feel it wain. Becoming more animalistic. 

Rachel had begun to notice the change. Her heart ached for the children she couldn’t have and for the husband she was losing because of it, or so she thought. Sleeping next to him was like sleeping next to a corpse. 

-

Marybeth had rung up Rachel inviting her and Nick to her son’s birthday. It was his first and Marybeth made a fuss when Rachel declined at first. Did she really want to celebrate her sister’s child only a month after her own misfortune? 

“We didn’t have to go. Marybeth will get over it.” Nick said. He wasn’t sure if he could handle a whole day at Mary and Randy’s, not in the state he was in.  
“She said she has a surprise for me.”  
“Of what?”  
“I don’t know, that’s why it’s a surprise.” Rachel snapped. “Sorry.” She muttered.  
“It’s okay.”  
“Let’s just stop by then we can go.”  
“And do what?” Nick asked.  
“Nothing.” 

-

September 25, 1950

The front garden of Marybeth’s house was a mess of balloons and streamers. So much fanfare for one baby. Neighborhood children scurrying around the street towards the house. Rachel watched them for a long time. Nick nudged her when he saw Marybeth calling everyone inside for dinner. He saw Randy coming towards them with an 8mm camera, he was filming the festivities. Both Nick and Rachel rolled their eyes. 

Nick had a pang of fear when Randy drew near. He wouldn’t be seen in the film. 

“I’ll be right back.” Nick stood up quickly and ducked into the family kitchen. Rachel didn’t have time to object. 

In the kitchen, he caught Marybeth by surprise as she sliced wilted strawberries. 

“Gah!” She yelped as the knife grazed her fingertip. The scent of blood suddenly overwhelmed the room. He hadn’t fed in three days. 

“M-Marybeth, are you okay? I’m s-sorry.” Nick stammered.  
“It’s fine,” she groaned walking over to the tap.  
“Let me.” He caught her arm.  
“Nick.” She said. He studied the bright red blood, the same color as the strawberries still on the cutting board. 

“Nick!?” She ripped her arm away and carried on to the sink.  
“God, I’m sorry. Blood makes me…” he didn’t know how to end the sentence. “Nervous.”  
“Mhm.” She tutted and rinsed the blood away.  
“How are things with Rachel? She looks rather bored.” Marybeth wrapped her finger in a handkerchief and leaned her back against the sink.  
“She’s just tired I think.” He said. “Working more.”  
“Ah, well if you were home more often you’d know for sure.”  
“Why don’t you ask her yourself Marybeth?” Nick sighed. The anger returned.  
“I do Nick. Everyday. She not hap…” “There’s my lovely wife!” Randy came into the kitchen with the camera. Marybeth’s contorted face reverted to a pleasant smile. 

“Oh, and uncle Nicky!” Randy turned the camera to Nick.  
“Ah… I’m going to sit down now.” Nick couldn’t wait to leave. Perhaps they wouldn’t notice him missing when they would develop the film. He could only hope. 

The dinner passed uneventfully. Marybeth scowled at Nick for not eating more, instead, he poked at the food taking small bites of the bland meal. 

Then came the birthday cake, Thomas immediately squashed the cake with his pudgy hands, candle and all. The small crowd couldn’t help but laugh and clap a bit. 

“We want to thank you all for coming tonight.” Marybeth stood up and clicked her glass.  
“Especially my loving sister, always by my side.” 

Rachel gave a small smile and her cheeks turned red.  
“And seeing your struggles just made me want to work through my own.” Marybeth continued. Rachel shifted uncomfortably in her seat. 

“I just want to announce that despite the odds, Randy and I are expecting sometime in March next year!” 

The group began to applaud but Rachel sat stunned. Her eyes had begun to burn.

“Let’s go.” Nick stood her up and guided her out the door. Nick made brief eye contact with Marybeth. She looked almost victorious. 

Rachel immediately collapsed on the street when they made it out of the house. She let out a painful wail and buried her face into Nick’s chest. 

“I’m not going to leave you.” He reassured her. 

-  
October 10, 1950

When they reached the edge of the forest above an abandoned dam it was nearly dawn. Hal had Nick drive. He was a bit rusty and the sleep in his eyes didn’t make it any easier. 

When they stopped Hal made Nick start to dig the grave. The soil was thankfully soft and gave way easily. The sun was rising into the clouds and made it unbearably muggy. By habit only, Nick would wipe his brow with his muddy hands. 

“She was your kill.” Hal lit a cigarette and leaned against the car.  
“Yeah, I didn’t realize we decided that.” Nick sighed.  
“Lucky Fergus was there to finish the job.” Hal came to the edge of the grave. “That keeps happening.”  
“I think ‘keeps’ is a bit…” “You like the blood though.” Hal interrupted 

“Have you got any?” Nick kicked himself for that response. “I mean… yeah.”  
“You’re becoming the drunk who never buys a round.” Hal said. “All we require is everything.” Hal bent down, inches from Nick’s face. 

“We can’t bury here anymore, you’re gonna have to figure out a new spot or way to get rid of them.” Hal huffed. 

-

It was the smell afterward that still stuck with him. They’d smell so lovely before and as they died but now they just smelled like rotten meat. Perhaps worse, deceptively sweet. 

He didn’t look when they’d die. He’d turn away while Fergus or Benjamin finished, then they’d leave him with the mess. No doubt they’d report his failures to Hal. He just couldn’t do it, he wanted to hold on for as long as he could. Are you really a murderer if you don’t actually kill them yourself? Accessory to it then? Get you 25 years or worse, he was 25, he’d be 50 if that happened. He would look it, or so he’d been told. . Of course they couldn’t be arrested, that’s what he was there for.

He’d close their eyes and drag them away. Hal made him use one of the “company” cars to use for this. Rachel asked for a ride in it a few times but Nick didn’t want her to notice the smell of decay and dirt on the floorboards. So she stopped asking. 

Rachel had begun to compartmentalize their relationship. Before the News and after the News. This was her fault, she thought. Then she had another spot for how much she hated his new job. Sure, she didn’t have to search for extra money to pay the rent but it meant being alone 90 percent of the time. Now she didn’t even have her sister to turn to. 

-

“Nick, I wish you were home more… can’t you take a night off?” Rachel asked one morning. Nick downed his coffee right then. 

He couldn’t, he had to feed. He felt like he was hanging on by his fingernails. 

“Maybe another night, love.” He sighed. Rachel didn’t push the subject. She slinked back to the kitchen and waited for him to leave. 

-

Once again stage fright struck. He couldn’t take that night’s unlucky man down. 

“You really are a terrible vampire. I don’t know what Hal was thinking when he chose you.” Fergus snapped. “Hal’s standards used to be so much higher, but he got soft after we came back from the colonies.” 

“And you somehow meet his standards?” Nick scoffed.  
“At least I can kill,” Fergus said.  
“Colonies? Like India or what?” Nick asked, now curious. Fergus started to laugh.  
“What?” Nick responded.  
“‘The New World.’” Fergus did air quotes. “I guess we’re supposed to call em ‘the states,’ now.”  
“Uh yeah, I guess,” Nick said and was struck by the thought of Hal in the US during what? The revolutionary war? How old could he be? 

He stared down at the gruesome mess of that night’s death. It’d be a long night waiting for the right time and place to dump the remains. He put up a sweat rolling the portly man into a waxy canvas tarp. Uneaten blood spilled from the gaping wounds on his neck and arms. He had to be careful about that. His hunger was expedited by the sight of it, it made him feel cold. 

“Your appetite demands death.” Was something Hal said to him months ago. 

-

“Well, he didn’t do it, again.” Fergus sighed as he stepped into Hal’s suite. “What a sorry excuse of a vampire.”  
Hal shook his head. “He just needs the right push.”  
“Well, figure it out soon otherwise he knows too much and we should cut him loose.”  
“Oh don’t be so pedantic. I have an idea but I want to see if I can get him to do it himself first.” Hal started to get dressed again. “We're going to pay him a visit tonight, for some gentle persuasion.” 

-

As he dumped the man at the docks the blood spilled out the edge of the canvas, coating his hand. Foolishly he tried to lap the blood off but he was like licking a cold rusty iron fence post. Dead blood. It made him sick. 

When she got home he feverishly scrubbed his hands and arms in the garage with a bucket of water. He didn’t want to wake Rachel and have her see the mess of red. He’d planned to pour it out at the back of the garden, hidden by a flower bed. That’s when a knock came on the garage door. Perhaps the ghost of the man he just dumped or worse, Hal.

Unfortunately, it was Hal and a small posse of lackeys. Nick quickly closed the garage and sealed them in. The air was painfully still and cold. 

Hal took a small container out of his coat pocket and set it on the empty workbench and opened it. The air became salty with the presence of fresh blood. Was it a peace offering? Nick went to reach for it. Hal’s gloved hand stopped him. 

“Did you think this was the end? Did you think deification comes without fine print?” Hal said sternly. 

“What do I have to do?” Nick asked he withdrew his arm. A new voice was heard coming towards the garage. 

“Nick, who is it?” Rachel said from the other side of the fire door. 

“No, not her. Please.” Nick quietly pleaded. He tried to will Rachel back to bed with his mind. No use, she came down anyway. 

“It’s no one, just some people from work,” Nick said, his voice was strained. “Just go back to bed.” 

“Humanity and mercy are old skin, don’t you understand?” Hal said. 

“What do they want, it’s after midnight?” The doorknob started to turn. 

“To be truly free, to finally become a history maker, you must shed it.” Hal said quietly. 

“Hello?” Rachel stepped into the dark garage. “What’s going on?”  
“Mrs. Cutler, Rachel isn’t it?” Hal reached for her hand. It made Nick’s chest tighten. “My name is Henry Yorke. I’m a colleague of your husband’s.” Hal’s entire demeanor changed, his face looked somehow human. 

Rachel blushed for a second and he kissed her hand. Her skin was hot against his lips. 

“I can’t apologize enough for the intrusion.” He said.  
“It is late.” Rachel reiterated.  
“Believe me, only a matter of the utmost importance would compel me to disturb you at such an ungodly hour.” Hal coaxed her.  
“Well if it’s important…” Rachel said.  
“No, we are denying him the company of an angel,” Hal reassured her and gestured to the door. She started to leave. 

“He shall be with you in a matter of minutes,” Hal said. Rachel smiled back and went back upstairs. 

“Fucking kill her.” Hal snapped.  
“I can’t… I’m sorry, not my wife.” Nick said softly.  
Hal shook his head. 

“Let’s go,” Hal said to his lackeys.  
“Thank you,” Nick said as the door was cranked open.  
“I had such high hopes for you,” Hal said before parting. 

-

“You wanted to see me?” Fergus followed Hal up to his suite.  
“Yes. I have an assignment.” Hal said quietly. 

-

Last night’s visit didn’t sit well with Rachel the next day. She knew she wouldn’t get any answers from Nick, so she didn’t bother. Instead, she went to work, feeling off for most of the day. 

“Hower you love?” One of the nurses asked. “You look like you’ve got your head in the clouds.”  
“More like in the dirt…” Rachel replied.  
“I’m so sorry. Is everything okay?”  
“I don’t want to talk about it here, Rose.”  
“Well, how’s it bout I take you to lunch then? The little cafe down the block?” The nurse asked with a sunny smile. “My lunch break is at 1, come meet me.” She squeezed Rachel’s hand.  
“Yeah, okay, fine. You win this time, Elaine.” Rachel chuckled. The two weren’t close but the older woman was trustworthy and not a gossip. She also had a calming presence, something to tame Rachel’s nerves. 

She pinned her hair behind her ears and buttoned her shoulder cape over her white work dress. Then she stepped into the crisp fall noon.  
As she rounded the corner near the loading dock of the hospital, a man stepped out in front of her. She nearly ran into her. 

“Pardon me, sir.” She said awkwardly.  
“It’s no problem ma’am, but I need you to come with me.” He said.  
“What are you talking about?” She asked, the man seemed somewhat familiar, she couldn’t put her finger on it.  
“Something’s wrong with your husband.” He said sternly.  
“What? Is he okay?”  
“It’s best you come along, I have a car down that alley.” 

Rachel hesitated to follow, something didn’t seem right, but she didn’t feel surprised that Nick was in some kind of trouble. With all those midnights away and when they came the night before. She followed the man to the tan car. 

“Where are we going? To another hospital?” She asked as the car roared to life. The man didn’t answer, maybe he hadn’t heard her. The car was loud after all. She crumpled her skirt in her fists. 

-

Nick had been called to the Keep halfway through his day at court. The train ride over was nauseating. Was this it, would they finally get rid of him for good? How would one kill a vampire even? Fire? A stake like in the movies? 

He became more dread than a person as he walked inside. Most of Hal’s crew was all there, waiting for him. This really was it, they’ve come to watch him die. He couldn’t say it wasn’t a relief thinking of being free of thirst for the first time in months. 

Hal raised a finger to his lips to keep the men quiet. 

“Cutler,” Hal said softly.  
“What’s going on?” Nick stammered.  
“So suspicious!” Hal approached calmly. “We’re just pleased to see you.” He was lying. He came with a crooked grin and adjusted Nick’s collar. Nick tensed up. 

“Actually it’s more than… we wanted to reassure you,” Hal said as he guided him to the bar.  
“What about?” Nick tried to play it cool.  
“The other night, your wife,” Hal said. Nick’s chest tightened. 

“Perhaps killing just isn’t your strong suit.” Hal sat them beside a small crystal decanter of blood. Nick tried to ignore it but he felt that thirst growing.  
“No matter. We all have different roles to play.” Hal reassured him. 

“You provide us with legal advice,” Hal started to pour small glasses of the blood like it was fine scotch.  
“Louis here is the muscle and Dennis?” Hal paused.  
“Actually Dennis, what do you do apart from eating biscuits.” Hal turned to the bearded man behind him. Dennis gave him a coy smile. Nick barely noticed, too fixated on the blood. 

“Anyway…” he poured a glass for Nick. “Let’s put all of that behind us, hm?” Hal pushed the glass up to Nick’s face like he was rousing a hungry dog.  
“Take it,” Hal said softly. He seemed genuine. Nick was a bit shocked, asking “really?” With his eyes before downing the glass in an instant. A grin started to spread on Hal’s face and a dreadful chuckle started. It started to turn into a cackle. 

Nick, feeling like he’d missed a joke tried to smile and pretend like he understood. “What?” Nick said nervously. Hal and the others proceeded to laugh even louder.  
“What’s so funny?” Nick asked. His skin began to crawl. 

“Come, I want to show you something.” Hal coaxed Nick towards the back hallway. Some of the other “muscle” followed behind them. It smelled of death in the hall, death, and fresh blood. It made Nick’s mouth dry. Hal opened the door into a storeroom. 

It was pitch black and it smelled strongly of blood. Salty sweet decay. The light above flickered on like a bolt of lightning. Nick’s eyes moved from the light to the floor. 

There was a barren box spring on the floor with a blood-soaked body sprawled across it. Rachel’s blood-soaked body. Her dark blonde hair was stained with dried blood and in terrible disarray. Her long white work dress was torn and her normal stockings and shoes were gone. Her throat was torn open like a slaughtered lamb, a catheter allowed the blood to fall into another glass decanter. Her eyes were still open, glassy, and staring at the cabinets beside her. 

Nick stared down in shock, unable to move. 

“We weren’t sure if you’d work it out when you tasted the blood.” Hal chuckled. “I don’t know if it works like that between husbands and wives,” Hal said smoothly like it was still a joke and Nick was somehow waiting for a punchline. “Apparently not.” Hal sighed and pulled money out of his pocket and passed it to Dennis. It was some sort of cruel bet. 

Nick started to hyperventilate. Rachel… Rachel, Rachel… he did this to her. This was his fault. He should have left when he had the chance. His knees buckled and the other men dropped with him to hoist him back up. 

“No, no, no…” “Shhh,” Hal said over Nick’s gasps. Dennis held his chin forward so he couldn’t look away, away from what he’d done.  
“Don’t you understand what I’ve done?” Hal snapped, bending to eye level with Nick. “I’ve set you free.” 

“But I don’t want you to thank me.” Hal finished. 

-

“God, what did his face look like?” Fergus jeered to Hal. “Little worm probably bawled like a baby.” 

“Never mind that, we just have to see if it worked.” Hal snapped at him. He stared out into the bustling street, they were only a couple of stories up, but everyone looked like ants. So inconsequential, so meaningless. Had he just driven away his latest creation? Only Fergus was the one who’d stayed with him the longest. But Nick was smarter than Fergus. He’d come around again. Hopefully. 

“What did you all do with her?”  
“The bitch?” Fergus said. Hal frowned in return.  
“Propped her up in the alley where I picked her up, made it look like a robbery gone wrong.” Fergus rummaged through his coat pockets. He pulled out a small, red clutch wallet and tossed it at Hal. 

“Not much in it, thought we was paying them, paying him?” Fergus laughed. Hal felt a tinge of gravity fill him, something akin to guilt. He stamped it out quickly and tossed the wallet in the bin under his desk. He went back to the window, waiting. 

-

“NICHOLAS CUTLER! OPEN THIS DOOR IMMEDIATELY!” A woman’s shrill voice called and a rapid thud marked the door along with the ringing bell. 

Nick hadn’t gone to the funeral arrangements, he hadn’t seen her since she lay in that storeroom. He’d just come home from the police station. He’d recited his lines and now he’d receded into himself. It was like the world’s sounds went away and all he heard was a sharp static. This however was shaken away by Marybeth banging at his door. 

He finally worked up the will to go to the door. Wobbly on his feet and almost tripping over empty liquor bottles. Alcohol wasn’t as potent, but enough of it caused an even burn and made the edges of reality fuzzy. 

The banging continued. She wasn’t going to let up.  
“NICK!” She called out. He finally opened the door, only a crack. 

“What Marybeth?” He feigned.  
“Why haven’t you returned any of my calls? Why didn’t you come to the arrangements? Are you even planning to come to the funeral?” She spat. She looked exhausted and had started to show her pregnancy. 

“Where are you having it?” He said.  
“St. Peters on church road.”  
“That’s where we got married.” He said, his nose and eyes began to prickle. He took a deep breath to hold them back. 

“I’m not going.”  
“WHY?” Marybeth shouted.  
“I can’t. I can’t see her. Not like that. Never again.” 

“I’m the one who identified her, Nick. I drove all the way down here and I looked at my dead sister and now that's all I see when I think of her.” She started to cry. “I mean who does all of that for what? A purse?” 

“I’m sorry Marybeth.”  
“You should be, you should’ve been with her.”  
“I know.” He could feel the alcohol threatening to pull him down.  
“It doesn’t add up. She was on such a busy street… Why did no one stop? She’s been dead for hours.”  
“Mary…” he had to stop her from spiraling.  
It was time to cut ties. 

“Vampires killed her.” He blurted out.  
“What? Are you mad?” She hissed.  
“You wanted to know why I’m telling you.” He gripped the doorframe.  
“Why are you doing this to me? Why are you doing this to her?” She started to cry.  
“It’s my fault.”  
“But you didn’t, you were in court…” she’d read the police reports.  
“ I might as well have,” Nick said. “I signed her warrant.” 

Marybeth was in a state of shock. She would start to speak and then stop. 

“They just made it look like a mugging,” Nick said softly.  
“And how would you know any of this Nick?” She hissed. “What are you a vampire?” She said mockingly.  
“Goodbye, Marybeth.” He quickly shut the door. 

“YOU’RE A SICK MAN NICK CUTLER! DAMN YOU TO HELL!” 

She no doubt got the neighbors attention. They’d taken to bringing flowers and baked goods to his door. Why couldn’t they bring booze instead? He never used to drink before, but he was already an addict, to begin with. 

He knew she wouldn’t say anything. She thought he was crazy. Sick. No one would believe her if she did. That was his protection. 

-

Bobby Mercer found his father’s letter again as he was clearing out his room. Bound for London with his soon to be fiancé. 

It was something that had been in the back of his mind for months now. He mulled over the thought of humoring the dead man. Worst case scenario, he’s right and there are monsters around us. But most likely his father was hallucinating during another one of his benders. Only one way to find out. 

He didn’t smoke anymore, but he had a metal cigarette case that was a gift from his girlfriend. This was of importance because the mirror of the inside of the case on top of this, the rest of the case was shiny enough to see one’s reflection with ease. His father had written that these men could not be seen in mirrors. 

He needed a cover story. His father still had a box labeled “The Keep.” He could definitely use that box as a cover. Even vampires want their paperwork back. 

As he headed towards The Keep, his mind raced. What if his father was telling the truth. What if these men were vampires? Would he kill them? Did they kill his father? Before he could answer those questions he was standing outside the pub, gripping onto the legal box. 

He awkwardly juggled the box and he opened the door. The pub was strangely empty despite the area’s reputation for drunks. There was only one man sitting on a bar stool reading a paper. He was gruff looking but almost a bit fox-like. 

“I’m Robert Mercer.”  
“No you ain’t, he’s dead.” The man didn’t even look up from his paper.  
“I’m his son.” 

This caught Fergus’s attention.  
“Alright then, what do you want? We already have council.” Fergus crumpled up the paper. 

“I just… I have some of your documents is all.” Bobby couldn’t explain his sudden nervousness. The man at the bar made him uneasy. The sound of the stool scooting on the floor made him flinch. 

“Yeah, alright… follow me I guess,” Fergus said and started to walk towards the back hall. “You’ll have to discuss it with my boss. It’s above my pay.” His voice sounded like he was trying to make a joke. 

Bobby only nodded and followed Fergus. All the time he felt the mirrored case in his coat pocket and the cross necklace under his shirt. 

“This is just madness.” He whispered to himself.  
“Hm?” Fergus grunted.  
“Nothing…” 

The office he was shoved in was small but grand. Messy like his father’s but it had a sort of rhythm and rhyme to it. Organized chaos. 

“Mr. Mercer!” Hal came in immediately and made Bobby put down the box. “What have you brought us today?” 

Bobby felt a bit stunned.  
“Forgive me, I’m Henry Yorke, I worked closely with your dearly departed father.” Hal reached to shake his hand. His face was warm and inviting, but his hands were ice cold. 

“Uh, yeah I just have some documents of yours. Found them in dad’s study.” Bobby opened the box. It was just mounds and scraps of paper. 

“You’re studying to be a barrister, correct?” Hal asked as he thumbed through the papers.  
“Yeah, just graduated, got a job with my fiancé’s dad,” Bobby said.  
“Congratulations my friend, a bright future awaits. But as a newly barred solicitor, I would think this sort of paperwork is best suited to go over with our paid council.” Hal prodded.  
“Wouldn’t you agree?” Hal smiled. “Wouldn’t want to miss something.”  
“Uh, yeah. Of course. When should I come back?” Bobby sputtered.  
“Hm, let’s say two weeks.” Hopefully, Cutler would be out of his sulk. He wouldn’t last long without Hal to guide him.  
“Uh, sure. I’ll have to come from London unfortunately.”  
“That shouldn’t be a problem Mr. Mercer, and may I just extend my condolences.” His voice was silky smooth. 

“Thank you.” Bobby started to pack up the box again. “Do you have a light?” He asked, fumbling for the cigarette case. Showtime.  
“Of course, Fergus?” 

The fox man had been behind them the whole time, it made Bobby jump. He saw the lighter come from behind. Bobby shakily put a cigarette in his lips. I left the case open, holding it low to see if he could see the arm and lighter. 

“Th-thank you.” He shuddered. He only saw a lighter floating in front of his face. No hand attached. He choked on his surprise and the sudden wave of smoke in his throat. 

His father was right. These men weren’t human. His father was murdered.

He gathered the box and case and hurried out the door. He bumped into a tall bearded man and it made him jump out of his skin. 

“We need to keep an eye on him,” Hal whispered to Fergus. 

-

“This creature softened my heart of stone. She died and with her died my last warm feelings for humanity.” Was a quote that lingered in Nick’s mind. Stalin had written that when his wife died in 1907. He then became a cruel man and a feared man at that. Nick had read it in a book on the Russian revolution years ago. It had become chillingly relatable. 

It had already been four weeks when the phone began to ring again. He hadn’t left the house in days. Not since the funeral. He didn’t go, not exactly. He stood on the outskirts of the cemetery yard to watch the procession. This was for everyone’s safety and a way to distance himself from grief. Once everyone left he went to the grave. A mistake that caused him to hull up in the house for weeks.

“Rachel Burt-Culter  
1925-1950  
Daughter, Sister, Aunt, Nurse, and Wife”

Etched in grey marble. It stood shiny and new above a mound of freshly turned soil covered in dying flowers. It was absolutely dreadful and almost nauseating. Why’d they put her murderer’s name on the stone? Why mention him at all? She shouldn’t have her name still attached to Nick’s 

-

The phone kept ringing until he finally picked it up, expecting either Hal or Marybeth. It was neither. It was a court clerk calling because he’d been requested. 

“Where have I heard that before?” he mumbled to himself. His head was spinning from the solo midnight bender on the kitchen floor last night.  
“I’m sorry?” The clerk chirped.  
“Nothing, what’s the name?” Nick brushed him off.  
“Mickey Wells, you covered him in July. Battery of a peace officer.” The clerk said.  
“The extenuating circumstances eh?” He jogged his memory. The man showed up half-drunk and completely disorderly. Nick had given him a tie.  
“What’s he done now? Attacked the mayor?” Nick wanted to laugh.  
“Suspicion of murder. Found his wife dead.” 

The nagging wife…

“I know this might be a touchy subject, but…”  
“I’ll be there in a few hours.” Nick promptly hung up the phone. He felt like he might pass out. He didn’t know why he was going at all. Was it some sort of punishment? 

He elected to not take the car, because he was still slightly intoxicated, and instead took the train. It was disgustingly crowded. He held his breath and stared at his feet the whole ride in. 

The courthouse was just as bustling as he remembered. He caught people staring at him. Old colleagues, policemen, and even just passerbys would stare. He marched on to the holding cells. 

The dank smell of the jail still made him sick and filled with dread. 

“You look like shite.” The supervisor said, pointing at his own eyes.  
“I feel like shite thanks for asking.” Nick snapped back. He was sure that there were dark circles beneath his eyes. No sleep, alcohol, grief, and no blood can do that. There was no way he would know. 

“Why are you even here, mate?” The supervisor sighed.  
“No earthly idea,” Nick said.  
“Mr. Cutler.” The court clerk was coming down the hall with the case file. 

“We want to extend our condolences.” He placed a lavender envelope on top of the file.  
“Oh, thanks,” Nick said. “Where’s my client?”  
“Are you sure you still want to see him? You don’t look well.” The clerk was genuinely concerned.  
“No, it’s fine.”  
“He’s being interrogated for the second time since this morning, and third since yesterday.” The supervisor chimed in.  
“Well, then time is of the essence.” Time…

“Do you have the affidavit? A transcript?” Nick tapped on the files.  
“The recording is still being transcribed.” Said the supervisor.  
“It should be done already. He was brought in at 7pm yesterday and they are this behind?” Nick let his irritation shine through. “I want to see my client before the end of his current interview and before sentencing, I’m hoping to have that affidavit before then.”

The clerk nodded to the supervisor who led Nick down the hall to the interrogation room. The air burned with the pungent smell of ammonia either from piss or mopping, maybe both. 

The room smelled of blood. Mickey sat curled up on the bench across from the detective. He still wore his wife’s blood. There were nail scratches covering his face and neck. She fought. He wondered if Rachel fought. 

“I need to meet with my client if this interrogation is to continue. You obviously didn’t get what you wanted the first two rounds, so I’m here.” Nick slapped down the file and practically shoved the detective off the opposite bench. 

“Christ, you duty lawyers work for the devil you know.” The detective stood up and pushed a stack of photos into Nick’s chest before storming out. 

Something like that. 

Nick sat down slowly fanning out the photos. It was a ghoulish sight. The black and white photos didn’t lessen the effect of the blood at the scene. It was black against the white and gray backdrop. Her neck was deeply bruised like she’d be strangled, but unsuccessfully because her face was smashed in by a claw hammer. She was unrecognizable.

“Mickey, you remember me… Nick Cutler, your solicitor.”  
Mickey gave the slightest nod. The old blood smell was equal parts appetizing and nauseating.  
“Mickey, I need to know if you did this. I need to know if they forced this so-called confession. Because this is serious Mickey and I need to know all the facts.” Nick tried to keep his voice calm. 

Mickey refused to make eye contact. It confirmed the worst. 

“Wells, you’ve made bail.” The supervisor had come into undue Mickey’s cuffs.  
“Excuse me, why was bail set on a murder investigation?” Nick questioned. 

“No affidavit, no formal charges.” The supervisor sighed.  
“But he can just leave the country tonight?” Nick whispered through gritted teeth. “He’s going to get away with it.”  
“Well, shouldn’t you be happy then? You got him out of jail time earlier this year. You let him out.” The supervisor hissed. He left Nick alone in the stifling room. 

Nick let out a gruff shriek, picked out the file, and threw it at the opposing wall. The gruesome pictures scattered like a deck of cards. The lavender envelope was on the floor too. He picked it up with the intent to open it, instead, he tossed it into the rubbish bin beside the supervisor’s desk as he stormed out. 

The sun was setting and the temperature was starting to drop, quickly. The wet air from the docks made it all worse. Mickey must’ve gotten a ride due to the state he was in, but Nick could smell that blood wafting in the air still. He wasn’t far. 

He’d let the man out once. Never again. He started to follow the scent.

-

Indeed, Mickey was walking to a train station. Still splattered with blood and his face torn up like a feral cat. He was shivering in the cold. Nick felt almost immune to the chill. It only served to heighten his senses. 

Mickey went and waited at the abandoned end of the platform. However, the whole station was unnaturally quiet and hardly anyone was on the benches. Mickey sat up against a shuttered ticket stand in the dark. All the bulbs on the spotlights were smashed by vandals or burnt out. 

Nick watched Mickey fish for a bent cigarette in his shirt pocket and a book of dampened matches. His hands were shaking uncontrollably as he struggled to light the thing. Once he got the slightest light he took a long drag from the blood-stained cigarette. This infuriated Nick. Mickey was a coward, he was running away from his consequences. 

Nick was ready to stop running from his own consequences, from his nature. There needed to be consequences for Mickey. 

Nick approached slowly to the man. 

“Mickey.” He said quietly as he approached.  
“Shit! You fucking scared me, mate.” He shook and stood up.  
Nick remained calm and gestured for the cigarette. He wasn’t a smoker but Mickey handed him the thing anyway. Nick took a drag and handed it back. He was surprised that he didn’t cough. He handed the butt back to Mickey. 

“Why’d you do it?” Nick said. He felt excited by the smoke and dried blood that came with it.  
“I don’t know.” Mickey looked at the ground.  
“So you’re just gonna run?” Nick asked. Mickey gave a slight nod.  
“I ain’t gonna last in jail. They’ll probably hang me.”  
“There are worse ways to die.” Nick took the cigarette and tossed it to the ground, smashing it with his foot. 

He sensed Mickey’s heart elevation. Nick’s mouth ached and his hair stood at an end. 

“What do you want man?” Mickey’s chest tightened.  
“I’m hungry, Mickey.” Nick slightly smiled.  
“What?” Mickey was dumbstruck. 

“I said I’m hungry!” Nick hissed. He let his eyes manifest and his fangs bared. Mickey’s face contorted in fear as Nick pounced. 

Nick pressed the man’s head to the side and held Mickey’s arm and shoulder down. His teeth cut in like blades. Mickey let out a gasping scream only to be muffled by Nick’s hand gagging him. 

Mickey tried to kick and squirm but he felt himself weaken extremely fast. He finally stopped struggling and slumped down, Nick still attached to his neck. 

Once the heart stopped Nick broke away, and wiped his mouth, leaving his hand covered in blood. The severity of the bite tore a huge gash in Mickey’s neck. His death rattle made his aspirate on the blood. 

Nick felt a burning strength and adrenaline pumping through him. He lapped the blood off his hand and grazed his fingers on his teeth. The deed was done and he felt an unquiet peace. 

He stood and rushed away, not wanting to see the man ever again. As he ran he passed a telephone booth. He stepped inside and dug through his pockets for coins. His hands were still slick with blood and shook as he dialed. It felt like the ringing would go on forever but a familiar voice came on. Hal’s voice. 

“It’s done.” Nick shook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did use the actress's last name for Rachel's maiden name.


	6. Apprehension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Nick's first kill, he and Hal's relationship becomes tense but for a different reason. A danger is looming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is a little short, but the next chapter will be crazy, so this is just the build-up. I'll try to have it up before the end of this week (Dec 6, 2020)

Nick wanted to do it again and again. It gave him an indescribable rush. A feeling of power unrivaled by anything he’d ever done. 

Once he reached home, he felt a sudden sharp guilt. 

“He didn’t deserve to live. He’s a killer.” He told himself. However, he was a killer too. 

“There’s a difference. There has to be.” 

-

Bobby Mercer locked himself in his office. He painted a cross on his door and fashioned crosses from whatever he could find to garnish the windows. His fiancé tried to get him to speak but to no avail. Bobby tried to get her to join him in his room but that too was to no avail. This went on for several days. 

One morning he abruptly left the flat and ventured to his old university library after almost two weeks in his office. Surely something would help him there. 

He poured over manuscripts and dusty books for more information in addition to the vague instructions from his father. He read dark legends from Bristol about colonies of blood-sucking plague spreaders who squatted in the city’s catacombs. Women and children in addition to men were all these foul creatures. The church had opted to drive stakes and bricks through their mouths. This was also found to be the case in cities like Venice. However, He came to the conclusion that a wooden stake through the heart was the best option. 

-

“What are you doing Bobby?! That credenza was an engagement gift from my uncle!” His fiancé shouted as she watched him break off the intricately carved and stained legs of the credenza. 

“I’ll get you a new one.” He grunted. He shuffled away with all four legs under his arm and a paring knife in his pocket. He promptly locked the office door behind him. 

“What has gotten into you?” His fiancé pressed against the door.   
“It’ll be over soon, my love!” He shouted as he struggled with the knife trying to fashion the legs into sharp points. 

“I can’t keep lying to my dad, he’s getting impatient with you not ever coming into the office.” She had half a mind to call a doctor or a psychologist. One more week, she thought.

-

Though it was nearing 2 am Hal stayed waiting in his office, staring out the window in complete silence. It was a new moon and the night was inky black. His nails fidgeted with the cord of the drapes. He could sense Nick drawing near. It made him excited. When he saw movement in the darkness he clenched his jaw and quickly turned on his lamp as a signal to the shadows below. 

He tried to wait coolly trying to decide if he should sit in his leather chair or simply lean against the front of his desk. He opted for the lean. His nerves were screaming. As footsteps approached the door he braced himself. 

As he assumed it was Nick. They stood in silence at first. Hal could see stains of blood on the man’s collar and dried, flaking blood on his hand. 

“Who was it?” Hal asked quietly.   
“A man,” Nick said softly and moved closer.   
“Did you know him?”   
“In a way.”   
“That’s dangerous.”   
“I know.” Nick paused. “He was dangerous.”   
“And you put him down.”   
“Like a rabid dog,” Nick replied quickly.   
“How do you feel?”   
“A mix of things.” 

They kept their voices low like they were hiding some terrible secret. Or something more intimate. 

“Why?” Hal asked. “You’ve done humanity a service.”   
“How am I any different? How is my killing different from his?” Nick reflected, trying to maintain his quiet composure. 

“You are not like him. He was common, just a man. But you, you are a predator. The next evolution of man.” Hal said smoothly. “An apex predator like a shark amongst fish.” 

“A wolf among sheep.” Nick corrected. He came even closer.   
“A culler,” Hal said. Now they were inches apart. 

“Now do you see what I have given you?” Hal whispered.   
“Yes,” Nick said. “Power.”   
“Potential.”   
“Potent.” Nick corrected. “I feel potent.” 

Hal smiled. He started to close the gap between them. Running his hand down Nick’s arm, only skimming the wrinkles of the suit’s fabric. Hal’s fingers grazed Nick’s bloodied hand. Nick watched his hand and the inches of floor between them. Their breathing became heavy. 

Nick wasn’t sure what he was anticipating, he held his breath and bit down on his cheek to stop himself from continuing. 

“I want to hunt with you.” Nick finally broke the anxious silence. “I hate Fergus.”   
“I hunt alone.” Hal rebuked, feeling flustered and frustrated.   
“I don’t care.” Nick stepped back. “Tomorrow.”   
“Tomorrow.” Hal sighed. 

-

“An area man charged with his wife’s murder was found earlier this morning by a train conductor from an apparent suicide.” The news came through the fuzzy speakers as Hal sipped his morning coffee. He still felt strangely after last night and a bit unnerved. He hadn’t hunted with anyone for nearly a decade. He did this to minimize mess, it kept him from getting carried away. With a partner in crime, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. But Cutler wasn’t like Fergus or any of the lackeys, he was refined. Education does that to you. Fergus’s last education was a fallout pamphlet. 

“I heard you up late last night.” Fergus broke his thoughts. “Smelled some blood too. Thought maybe you brought over some girly.” 

“No, it was our solicitor.”   
“Ah, so you gave in? Fed him did ya?” Fergus shook his head. “Not even our last stunt changed-“ “No, I didn’t feed anyone.” 

Fergus didn’t finish his sentence. 

“I got a queer call from him hours before he came here. He only said a few words and hung up.” Hal started to straighten the coffee saucer and spoon. “Then he came here, with blood all over. All over his collar, his shirt… his hands” Hal trailed off. 

“So he finally did it then? Finally killed for himself.” Fergus chirped.   
“Indeed, finally reaching his potential. I feel better about picking him.” Hal sighed. He hadn’t handpicked a progeny since Fergus, and he only picked him for his potential brutality.   
“Well that’s good, I guess. At least he’ll start pulling his weight with us.” Fergus said.   
“Something like that.” Hal quipped. 

-

It was hard to tell who was more anxious about that evening. Nick or Hal. Both had a burning sensation in their guts that made the whole day hard to focus on. 

When Nick got to the pub near 7 pm Fergus and the crew were about to leave. 

“Aye mate, c’mon.” Fergus motioned to Nick.   
“Yeah, I’ll catch up.” He called out. Fergus shrugged and slapped Benjamin’s back. They made their way towards the pubs and dancehalls. 

Nick made his way upstairs. It was eerily quiet like it was last night and the whole building crept with each step. Hal’s office only opened a crack and the thin seam of light grew as he pushed the door open. 

“Where are you taking me?” Nick was being presumptuous, but he felt he’d earn that right.   
“You need to change before we go.” Hal closed the office door behind them. He handed Nick a silk navy blue tie and a black suit with a matching vest. 

“I’m guessing we aren’t going to the clubs?” Nick struggled to undo his tie.   
“No, my tastes are more refined than that, so you will learn.” Hal sighed. 

Hal tried not to watch him dress but he found himself looking over his shoulder multiple times. 

Nick wasn’t used to the slippery cloth of the tie so Hal took pity and came over to help. Now they were inches apart. 

“What did it feel like?” Hal asked under his breath as he worked on the tie.  
“Like what?” Nick feigned confusion.  
“When you killed that man.” Hal finished the tie and pushed the knot up to Nick’s throat. He didn’t move back like he should’ve. 

“It was warmer than that girl months ago.” Nick lowered his voice.   
“He struggled. When he’d try to yell his voice always became caught in his throat.” Nick rolled his head down so that their foreheads almost touched. Hal smelled of cologne.   
“I felt him die.”   
“How did that make you feel.” Hal started to breathe heavily, his mouth became wet.   
“Power, relief, honestly it was indescribable,” Nick said. He backed off. 

“We should go then, don’t want to miss the show.” Hal scuffled past him. 

-  
Hal took Nick to a late-night symphony and gala. There was an amazing menagerie of people, colors, and life. 

“How do you choose?” Nick brushed Hal’s shoulder.   
“I let them choose me.”   
Nick wanted to roll his eyes, but a petite woman in a yellow evening gown approached. Hal’s face softened. How did he make himself look so human? And did Nick look different now than when he was human? 

“Enchanté.” The woman put out a gloved hand to Hal who kissed it with the edge of his lips.   
“Bonjour mademoiselle.” Hal said charmingly.   
“I want you to buy me a drink.” The woman had a heavy French accent.   
“Of course, Nick.” Hal nudged Nick to go to the bar. 

He didn’t know what to get so he brought back a gin and tonic with a splash of lavender liqueur, a scotch for Hal, and a red wine for himself. The thought of hard liquor now nauseated him. 

“Merci.” The woman smiled.   
“This is Renne, she’s studying music.” Hal introduced them.   
“My friend here went to law school here as well.” Hal gestured.   
“Oh, how exciting.” She seemed half drunk already. The strong gin wouldn’t help her. They all clinked their glasses. Nick downed his like a shot of whiskey.   
“I’m starving.” Renne spouted. “These hors d'oeuvres are not to my satisfaction.” She pouted. 

“My lawyer friend knows the perfect bistro just up the road, and I know he’s absolutely famished as well.” 

-

They took her down through the bowels of the theatre to the loading docks. She and Hal held hands and she rolled around singing in French. Nick couldn’t tell if he was laughing with her or at her. 

“I don’t know boys, I’m so tired now, I think the lavender is putting me to sleep.” She slid down a stone wall.   
“Let’s rest then.” Hal plopped down next to her, and Nick sat on her other side. 

“You know, you are so beautiful.” Hal smiled and he gently pulled off one of her gloves. He kissed her exposed wrist.   
“I don’t think your friend likes me.” She huffed.   
“No, I do.” Nick sighed. He started to pull off her other glove, he ran his hand down the length of her arm to pull it off. She shuddered and Hal became intrigued. 

“Your touch is so cold.” She giggled. She sighed when Hal went to kiss her neck. Nick followed by kissing her hand and going up her arm. 

“Isn’t it such a shame that beauty never lasts?” Hal asked.   
“Mm, yes, I hope I never grow old or wrinkled.” Renne sighed.   
“The only way to preserve it is to be immortal it’d seem,” Hal said. “Or to die.”

Renne almost didn’t seem phased, but some realization came as Hal went back to kissing her. Her heart quickened, Nick felt it as he kissed the dark veins of her arm. He and Hal’s met for a fraction of a second as they closed the gap of kisses on her neck. Hal gave a slight nod before he plunged his fangs into her porcelain neck. At the same time, Nick bit down on her wrist, causing a stream of blood to roll down her extended arm. 

Her intoxication didn’t let her fight and she faded out faster than Mickey the night before. 

“That was…”   
“Amazing.” Nick finished Hal’s sentence.   
“Quite,” Hal said. “And intoxicating.”  
“The alcohol.” Nick sighed. He could feel a familiar dizziness from the blood alcohol.   
“French cuisine.” Hal chuckled as he rolled her body down and rested it on the ground. He got up and reached to help Nick up. He stood up close to Hal. 

“We, we should do that again.” Nick stammered. Hal brushed Nick’s hair back and used two fingers to wipe his mouth.   
“Get the car first,” Hal said quietly. Nick nodded and stumbled away. Hal licked the blood from his fingers once Nick was far away. 

-

The next night they ventured out again. They went to a grand hotel bar and picked up a young couple, visiting family. They followed the couple to their room in a hazy excitement. 

Nick was surprised to see Hal walk through the threshold without needing to be invited in. 

“Come in Nick.”   
Hal using his name made his chest tight and warm. 

The husband started to make another drink for the lot. But Hal stopped him. 

“I think we’ve had enough, I want something else,” Hal said slowly. The man nodded as Hal used his tie to bring him closer. He waited till Nick looked up before kissing the man with intensity. 

Was he trying to signal something deeper to him? Nick thought as the wife ran her hand on his leg. Nick grabbed it back and pulled her into a kiss. He hadn’t kissed anyone since Rachel. The kiss felt plain but he kept going as he felt her heartbeat. 

Hal felt almost jealous of watching Nick snog the woman.   
“Cutler.” He said.   
Nick took this as a cue to end it. He pounced on the woman. She screamed for a second before Nick muffled it with his hand. Hal brought the husband with speed, nearly merciful. Nick felt a slight jealousy and his own neck ached with memory. 

Hal was less tidy this time and he let the blood drip off his chin. He used his purple silk handkerchief to blot it away. He came over to clean Nick.

“You called me Nick, you never call me that,” Nick said softly.   
“I wanted to make them comfortable,” Hal said. Nick nodded. Maybe it all meant nothing. The kiss and the eye contact. 

-

Nick had started to like their long drives to dump the corpses. They’d take nearly four hour drives through the countryside to the most remote areas. Hal was insistent at burial rather than burning or dumping in the sea. 

At first, the drives were silent then they started to talk about a myriad of topics. Hal loved to listen to Nick talk about law school or the ridiculous clients he’d had. 

Nick pressed Hal for more details of his life, but Hal was lax on the details. Not out of any shame but as a matter of preference and privacy. Hal wasn’t willing to open up just yet. 

There were things Nick didn’t say either. He wouldn’t talk about Rachel, and he wouldn’t talk about his father. He had no idea if the crank was still alive or not. 

“Tell me about your childhood,” Hal said out of the blue.  
“It’s really not all that exciting, to be honest.”   
“Oh c’mon, it was the depression and the war.”   
“Well, I was sort of a teenager when that started,” Nick said. “So I don’t have any stories to regale you with.”   
“That’s okay, I just like to hear you talk. I barely remember my youth.”   
“Do you really not remember or do you choose not to remember?” Nick asked.  
“Maybe a mixture.”   
“I’m the same way.”   
“We’re here.” Hal interrupted.

They stopped the car and killed the lights. An eerie silence fell over them at the same speed of the morning darkness. With the heater off the outside cold began to seep in. 

“How old were you when it happened.” Nick referenced Hal’s making.   
“27, but I don’t know for certain.”   
“How old are you now?”   
“463.” 

Nick became quiet and turned to the window, watching the dry tall grass sway. He felt a sense of horror of the scream of time that was now before him. What would life be like in 400 years? That is if humans don’t bomb each other by then.

“Nick,” Hal whispered. Nick turned back to him. Hal using his first name always caught him off guard. He leaned in close to better hear Hal’s voice. Hal leaned in too. 

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He whispered.  
“I’m not frightened,” Nick whispered back. “Just surprised.”   
Hal became silent again. He felt an anxious softness overtake him. He half loathed his growing fondness for his newest progeny. He had a warmth that Fergus could never provide. 

“Nick, I want to say…” he paused, his voice was barely audible. Their faces were mere centimeters apart. He opened his mouth and nothing came out. Just a cool breath that still produced a vapor in the air from the cold. 

Nick felt tense and his muscle memory of heavy breathing kicked in. What was he going to say? Did he even want to know? He drew close enough so that their breaths intermingled. The only thing separating them was the space between the seats. 

Almost simultaneously they started to close the gap between their mouths. The nudged noses and breathed in each other. Hal shakingly used his index finger to tilt Nick’s chin up. 

“I’m freezing,” Nick said and sat back. “We should dump them before the ground freezes.”  
“Quite right.” Hal agreed. He felt foolish but almost thankful that they didn’t continue. Nick was from a different time and still had human sensitivity to such things. It would be decades before that would change, he thought.

Nick felt like his heart was racing and the dark car was making him claustrophobic. He got out quickly. The sharp cold helped him shake off his stirring emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Hal's age, I used Damien's age in 2011, then I subtracted that from his change date (1514) then subtracted that from 1950 to get his age.


End file.
